


Dancing Lessons

by flashofthefuse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Anonymous Sex, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Public Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-02-28 10:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 40,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13269762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse
Summary: I don’t really know what this is or how to summarize it. It started as a bunch of unrelated stories. Some of them had been sitting in my Works in Progress folder for months. Then, when going through it one day, I noticed a pattern emerging.All of these stories seemed to be about interactions between Jack and Phryne that illustrate their growing relationship.I decided to turn it into a series.It starts at the beginning of series/season 2, and the stories all follow in order.  I may skip an episode or two because I don’t want to shoehorn a story in just to cover each episode and the stories are, for the most part, outside of the episodes themselves. More characters show up in future chapters. I'll be adding them to the tags as I go. I'll probably be changing the rating as I go too.So, for what it’s worth...Chapter 1.





	1. Of Fan Dances and Fantasies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @leafingbookstea for your help with this!

* * *

 

Any question Jack had that she might give up this line of work after the discovery of her sister’s remains had been answered when she pulled to the curb outside his father-in-law’s— —former father-in-law’s—home.

He couldn’t say he was surprised. Nor was he disappointed, if he were being honest. This wasn’t the ideal case for her usual interference—a little too under the microscope for his liking—but he found he was actually relieved to have her along for this ride. She was someone he could count on not to pre-judge or suspect him of a coverup. She would go where the facts led, just as he planned to, and she’d keep him honest. On the chance he did let some personal bias creep in against his will.

And, she certainly made things more interesting.

 _That fan dance._ That was going to haunt his dreams.

He hadn’t been sure if she knew he was there to see it, but when he made it clear he had, she hadn’t so much as blinked and he thought he might love her a little for that. She was so unapologetic. So sure of herself. So alive. It was powerfully attractive.

He sometimes wondered if she’d been sent into his life to torture him or thrill him. So far, it seemed a bit of both.

The further into the case they dug, the more welcome her presence had become. Without her, he’d have hit a dead end with Madame Lyon’s falsified register. He hadn’t held out hope that the woman would be forthcoming with the police but there’d been the off chance she might truly want to see a killer brought to justice. The problem was, everyone thought the killer was already known to, and being protected by, the police. Protected by him.

He’d had to make the arrest when the evidence required it, but he just couldn’t believe George Sanderson, a man he looked up to, a man that had dedicated his life to cleaning up this town, would have even been involved with one of Madame Lyon’s girls, much less murdered her.

With George behind bars, right where everyone seemed to want him, Jack was going to get even less cooperation from witnesses. And the brass was breathing down his neck to wrap things up. That, in itself, gave him pause. Usually they stuck behind one of their own but they seemed awfully eager to see this case in the rear view mirror, even if it tarnished the badge in the public’s eye.

He was going to need Miss Fisher more than ever now. She could go places and talk to people he couldn’t get near. He didn’t even mind admitting that he probably couldn’t do it without her. Which is why he’d found himself back at Madame Lyon’s gentleman’s club tonight, in a somewhat unofficial capacity, trying to locate her in a crowded room.

He’d stepped up to the bar, feeling very much out of place, when he heard a hiss.

_“Hey, hombre, follow me.”_

He’d had to hold back a laugh then, and the memory still made him smile all these hours later. He felt a tad guilty about that. His job really shouldn’t be this much fun.

_But, that dress. That hat. That ridiculous Spanish accent!_

He had to admit. Here, in the privacy of his own home. His own bed. To no one but himself, that those moments when she was sat on his lap, her arms around his neck, her breast against his mouth—well, his thoughts had drifted into territory he usually tried very hard to avoid. Could anyone really blame him for that? He was a mere mortal.

 _And she was a goddess._ The way she’d looked down on him when he’d teased her about the proximity of her intimate flesh to his mutinously eager lips. Her eyes soft and wanting...

 _No_.

Jack rolled over in his bed and clicked on the lamp. _Not again,_ he thought. He sat up, running his hands through his hair.

This had been going on since he turned out the light. Despite his attempts to change the film. That scene kept replaying in his head and, as he’d grow sleepier, it would drift into fantasy. He’d stop himself. Shake the image from his mind, only to find it returning as soon as he closed his eyes and settled back into the pillow.

The problem was the fantasy was too easy to conjure. In the course of his acquaintance with Miss Fisher he’d often seen her in varying states of undress.

Hell. Days after meeting her he was treated to the sight of her on her knees before him, wearing nothing but a towel, a sheen of sweat glistening on her porcelain skin. He’d handed her his coat immediately and she’d promptly covered up. She’d thank him for his gallantry but he’d got the impression she wasn’t all that fussed to have been caught half naked in the first place.

It had been a consistent onslaught since then. She stood too close, was rather free with her touch, had a strange preference for the corner of his desk over the chair in his office and a terrible habit of hiding things in her stockings. At this point, it was entirely possible he’d seen Miss Fisher’s garters more often than he’d seen Rosie’s in the whole length of their marriage.

After the initial surprise, he’d stopped finding it shocking. Mainly because it wasn’t meant to shock. She wasn’t trying to tease or titillate.

 _Strike that_.

She did tease. On occasion. But it was more deflection than seduction. And usually in good humor. Jack always got the impression she was letting him in on a joke more than attempting to seduce. That pleased him. She appeared to treat him a little differently than other men. As though she saw in him a sort of kindred spirit. Someone that understood.

He did understand. She was a woman navigating in a highly patriarchal society and she used whatever means were available to her, including her feminine wiles. And he couldn’t fault her for it. In fact, he thought it shrewd. It often gave her the upper hand and caused people to underestimate her. Most of the time to their own detriment.

He’d liked her. Early on. And that fondness had only grown as he’d gotten to know her better. Making this lurid fantasy that was developing in his brain all the more inappropriate. He wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t attracted to her. That would be absurd. This wasn’t even the first time he’d found himself thinking of her in this manner. Far from it. He’d lost count of the times he’d caught himself staring at her lips.

But he tried not to let that attraction color their relationship. She’d become a friend. A sort of partner in his work and someone he respected and cared for. She didn’t deserve this kind of prurient, nonconsensual use of her body for his own sexual gratification. Even if it was only in his imagination. (A surprisingly fertile one at that.)

This was beneath him. He was already plagued by that one instance of having taken inappropriate license where she was concerned. It wouldn’t do to add to it. If this kept up he’d have a hard time looking her in the eye next time they met, which, if history was any guide, would be very soon.

He picked up the book from his nightstand, turning to the marked page. He always kept his lighter reading in the bedroom. Something that would entertain his mind. Clear it of investigations and frustratingly beautiful detectives.

> _“Venters knelt with a gathering horror of his deed. His bullet had enter the rider’s right breast, high up to the shoulder. With hands that shook, Venters untied a black scarf and ripped open the blood-wet blouse._
> 
>   
>  _First he saw a gaping hole, dark red against a whiteness of skin, from which welled a slender red stream. Then, the graceful, beautiful swell of a woman’s breast!”_

An image returned to Jack’s mind and he blinked. Was even Zane Grey going to desert him in his time of need? He shook his head and continued.

> _“She suddenly opened eyes that transfixed Venters. They were fathomless blue.”_

“Bloody hell!” Jack chucked the book across the room.

It was really her eyes that had gripped him tonight. They often did. They spoke volumes, her eyes. But tonight they’d spoken a language that was new. Tonight, in her eyes he’d seen a tenderness, an affection and—dare he think—a longing, he’d seen only once before. Not long ago, during a moment of extreme vulnerability for her.

Then, she’d been living in a sense of heightened fear and grief. Surrounded by memories of her lost sister and haunted by the man that took her away. But tonight, there had been no threat. Nothing to fear. No shroud of vulnerability driving her but still, that look was there and he couldn’t help but wonder what it meant.

And, he was free now, from his marriage. She knew that...

He felt ridiculous. Running over moments in his head, analyzing what she said, how she looked at him. It was enough to drive a man mad. He wasn’t a school boy and they weren’t in the middle of some youthful romance. What they were in the middle of was a case that not only had his ex-wife—not to mention his boss and former father-in-law tied up in it—but also contained a whiff of corruption at high levels. He needed to keep his wits about him.

He snapped off his light and punched the pillow a few times for good measure before laying down his head. He began repeating the Fibonacci numbers to himself until finally, he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The excerpt Jack reads is from "Riders of the Purple Sage" by Zane Grey. Originally published in 1912. So Jack would probably have read it long ago, but allow me some license. ; )
> 
> Also: For anyone unfamiliar, the Fibonacci numbers (also called the Fibonacci sequence) are a sequence of numbers characterized by the fact that every number after the first two is the sum of the two preceding ones: 1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,55,89,144 and so on!


	2. Uncharted Oceans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation following Phryne's palm reading at the end of Death Comes Knocking.

“I see a very careful man, who professes to be cynical in the face of mysteries he can't explain, and claims to have no passions, in spite of a heart that runs as deep as the Pacific Ocean.”

She held his hand lightly in her own, watching him closely and wondering if he would walk through the door she was opening or retreat to safer ground. He looked down at his palm.

“That’s strange. All I can see is another martini.”

She sighed. Her expression one of fond annoyance. “How clairvoyant of you, Jack.”

She rolled her eyes, letting him off the hook and went to refresh their drinks. Handing him the refilled glass, she smiled slyly and cocked an eyebrow at his narrow escape.

“Your martini. Just as you predicted. You’ll give Mrs. Bolkonsky and her ilk a run for their money, Jack.”

Jack screwed up his face. “Charlatans like her do nothing but take advantage of people at their most vulnerable.”

“I don’t disagree, necessarily. But, something Warwick said struck me. He met Mrs. Bolkonsky while grieving the loss of his brother. He said she brought him solace. He wanted to help her bring comfort to others.”

“It’s a false comfort.”

“Perhaps, but it’s comfort nonetheless.”

They fell into silence. Wordlessly agreeing to disagree.

“It bothered you, didn’t it,” she said. It wasn’t really a question.

He glanced down at his glass and remained silent. Perhaps he hoped that might be enough to make her drop this line of inquiry.

“With Warwick.You disapproved,” she pressed.

“Your actions are your own. Who am I to say I disapprove?”

“I wonder that too, Jack, but this isn’t the first time you’ve questioned my taste in men.”

“More your timing in this instance. Warwick Hamilton was a suspect.”

“He wasn’t really,” she said.

“You may have already decided that but I hadn’t and you compromised the case. Anything you uncovered in the _‘sanctity of the boudoir’_ was tainted,” he said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“I don’t see why. It wasn’t as though the information were coerced.”

“But that’s where it gets sticky. What if you’d had to go into court and explain how you came to know about Hamilton’s twin?”

“Well, I’m not ashamed and I certainly wouldn’t lie!”

“I’ve no doubt of that, and while I might commend you for it, there are plenty who would think your behavior shameful and you know that. They _would_ consider it a form of coercion. Tarnishing your credibility and the credibility of your testimony.”

He wasn’t wrong.

For many reasons she’d come to regret her encounter with Warwick Hamilton. Not entirely and certainly not in the moment. In the moment, acting on the electric current between them, that energy, had been the right decision. The regret came later.

Later, he’d seemed less than she’d first imagined. In their midnight trip to the cemetery he’d been a clumsy companion, more burden than help. Then, in the interview room with Jack he’d seemed overly arrogant and slightly petulant.

She’d also thought it most unchivalrous of him to have broadcast their liaison. He’d had the chance to tell Jack the truth about his brother on his own. Did he really expect her to keep quiet? Think his privacy more important than a murder investigation?

But mostly, she regretted the encounter for the short it created in the current between herself and Jack. And that current, that connection, was becoming increasingly important to her.

Increasingly important and confusing. She’d been unusually interested in the conversation he’d had with Mrs. Bolkonsky. When the spiritual medium had told him his “greatest passion was close at hand,” and his gaze had darted to her, her heart had skipped a beat or two and her curiosity had piqued to an alarming degree. More alarming was the disappointment she’d felt when he’d stated he had no intention of pursuing this supposed great passion.

She’d written it off. She knew she was a little vain about her ability to enthrall any man in a room and it stood to reason his outright rejection would be a blow to her pride.

But then, at the seance. When he took her hand. The pleasure she’d felt at the warmth of his palm, the press of his thumb, the frisson when their eyes met in mutual mockery of the absurd situation. The connection was so complete and comforting. So pleasing, that even now the memory warmed her.

All from a brief touch of his hand. A quick glance and silent meeting of the minds. She’d even wondered later, if the current she’d thought she’d felt with Warwick wasn’t really residual energy from the earlier encounter with Jack.

“All right. I’ll admit that could have been a problem and I’m sorry for compromising the investigation but it all worked out neatly in the end,” she said. More than one murder had been solved and Jack had sent Warwick packing, so that was rather handy as well.

“Coming out smelling like a rose does seem to be one of your many talents,” he said, all indiscretions apparently forgotten.

“But Jack, answer honestly. Is that all it was? Just the case? Nothing more?”

He looked at her intently. His head cocking to one side as if trying to determine her purpose in asking. She wasn’t entirely sure of that herself.

She truly was at a loss to understand what was forming between them. What had she hoped to convey with her little attempt at palm reading earlier? Had she simply been seizing the opportunity to open her heart to him a little? To tell him how much she was coming to admire him, care for him? What had she hoped would follow? And why had she felt a momentary crash of disappointment when he deflected?

“Why do you want to know, Phryne?”

She couldn’t help notice the use of her first name. He was frustratingly frugal with it.

“Do you want to hear that there may have been something else behind my reaction?” He asked.

“I suppose it would depend on what you had to say. If you simply disapprove of my choices...”

“I’ve already said that’s not my place.”

“Not your place to _say_ , but what you think is your own business.”

“It’s not disapproval. Not in the slightest,” he said.

“Then what is it?”

He shifted in his seat, turning to face forward, a far cry from the relaxed and rather sensual lounging position he’d previously held.

“It’s complicated,” he said, shrugging.

“What is?”

“This,” he said, waving his hand between them. “You. Us. All of it.”

“Is there an ‘us’, Jack?”

“I don’t know,” he said, then he turned on her, “No. I do know. Of course there is. There is a relationship here, isn’t there? A friendship?”

“Yes. Of course.”

He nodded. “It’s becoming more important to me by the day. It’s something I value.”

“Me too,” she said. “I very much enjoy your company.”

“And I yours.”

“Are you attracted to me, Jack?”

She’d seen this look from him before. This affectionately mocking expression.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Miss Fisher. I think there are few red-blooded men that wouldn’t find you attractive.”

“So that’s a yes, then?”

He cocked his head to the side again. This time playfully. His lips curving into a smirk as his eyebrows shot up. Clearly he felt the question not worthy of any further answer.

“Then why didn’t you kiss me just now, Jack? You had to know that’s what I was angling for.”

"Were you?”

“Yes. I’m fairly sure I was,” she said.

“ _Fairly_ sure,” he repeated. “You see what I mean? Complicated.”

“But I’m not sure why it’s so complicated. It’s never been complicated for me before.” She sat back against the chaise feeling a bit pouty. “I blame you, Jack,”

“Sounds about right,” he said, leaning back and resuming his lounging position beside her, his body turned toward hers. She mirrored his pose.

“You’re a tough nut, Inspector Robinson. Nothing with you seems to follow a natural progression. At least not the progression I’m used to with men.”

“That might be because my feelings for you aren’t that linear. But I imagine my reaction to you is much the same as most men.”

“Is that so?”

She moved closer and toyed with his tie. She was well aware that her own desire was writ large across her face. As it had been once before, when she’d gone so far as to loosen his tie and press him for ‘one gaudy night.’

He shook his head slightly at her cheek.

“A minute ago, when I read your palm, did you _want_ to kiss me, Jack?” She spoke slowly, her voice edging a little higher, the end of his name coming off clipped and innocently questioning.

“The impulse was definitely there,” he said, his voice dropping in opposite of her climbing pitch. She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. His breath was coming even faster than it had when she’d held his hand and his eyes were most definitely focused on her mouth.

“But you thought better of it?”

“I thought it might turn me down a path I’m not sure I want to tread.”

“What’s wrong with the path?” She asked, sliding her hands from his tie to rest them flat upon his chest. He hadn’t made even the slightest move toward her but he hadn’t retreated either.

“I can’t see where it leads.”

“Is that a requirement?” The way his gaze was moving now from her eyes to her lips and then back to her eyes was making her a little dizzy with desire.

“In general, no,” he said, softly, “but with you, yes. I think it might be.”

His gaze settled on her eyes now and she could see in it a sad sort of resolve.

“I see,” she said, letting her hands fall from his chest. The loss of contact seemed to both relieve and disappoint him. For herself there was only disappointment.

“Do you? Do you understand, Phryne?”

“No,” she admitted. “Not really.”

“If I kissed you, what happens next?”

“Well, that natural progression of things I mentioned,” she said, smiling coyly.

“Right,” he said, returning her smile “and then the next time we have a case and you find yourself attracted to a suspect, what do you think my reaction will be?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Neither do I,” he said, “but I have a strong suspicion that neither of us would like it.”

“So, you’re the jealous type?”

“Maybe. I don’t really know what I am where you’re concerned. This is uncharted territory for me. I like you. Very much, Phryne.”

“I like you too, Jack.”

“And, I increasingly enjoy your help in my cases as well.”

“Really? I thought you only tolerated my interference in your cases because I help solve them!”

“Well, you are very clever but, in addition to your insights, I find it very helpful to have you as a sounding board. I’ve never really had a partner before.”

She lit up at that. Sitting up straight and beaming at him.

“But if you get smug about this admission things could change in a hurry,” he warned.

“Duly noted,” she said. “Do you really think of me as a partner, Jack?”

“I guess I do, in a way. I enjoy working together.”

“So do I. I’m always pleased when our investigations inadvertently overlap.”

“Inadvertently overlap? Is that what happens?”

“More or less,” she shrugged.

“For a random event, it seems to occur with unusual frequency.”

“Perhaps the universe it trying to tell us something.”

“Whatever the reason, Melbourne is better off for it,” he said, raising his glass to her. She touched hers to his with an appreciative smile.

“So, friends, partners,” she said, “your office and my parlour are acceptable locales but the boudoir is off limits. Is that it, Jack?”

“I think that would be safest, yes.”

“Safe is not generally my preferred speed,” she griped. “What about flirting? Is that off limits too?” She asked innocently, her hand straying to his knee. He looked up at her, his eyes sparkling under heavy lids.

“Now, where would be the fun in that, Miss Fisher?”


	3. Interlude at Queenscliff

Phryne had not been looking forward to the trip to visit her Aunt’s school chum and from the start it had been a bit of a disaster. They’d arrived to find themselves unexpected and the house in disarray. When they’d finally talked their way through the door Phryne almost wished they hadn’t. As it turned out, it was a dry household and any hope she had of getting through the days in a pleasant, alcoholic haze swiftly disappeared.

There was a silver lining, though. An interesting case and a possibly more interesting client. Gerald McNaster, famous explorer.

Here she was, sharing a house with a man that had ridden a bicycle to the top of the Andes, driven across India, been attacked in jungles and lost in deserts. His exploits had been written up in newspapers and journals and he was nearly world renown.

Phryne found it impossible that Aunt Prudence’s timid and scattered friend Hilly McNaster could have such a son. The woman hardly seemed able to navigate her own home much less a foreign land. How on earth had she raised such a remarkable man?

Gerald cut a dashing figure in person. Broad and muscular. His skin pleasantly tanned and his manner confident. He seemed to have questionable taste in suits but she was willing to overlook that. She accompanied him to his study to discuss his stolen coins and within minutes any intrigue he’d inspired evaporated like mist over the Cordilleras.

His clumsy attempt at what might have been an overture to seduction had her stifling a laugh. It was clear he’d spent too much time in the jungles and not enough among women!

She imagined the expression Jack would have held had he been witness to the scene and it only made her mirth harder to hide. Clearly Gerald McNaster was not going to provide the type of entertainment she had hoped for but she still had the case. She was quite sure she could find a way to have some fun with that.

 

* * *

 

“If you leave immediately, you’d be here in a couple of hours.”

“Some of us follow the speed limit.”

“If you insist. Two and a half.”

“Three.”

The call ended abruptly after that, leaving her giddy with excitement. She wished he’d given her time to suggest he pack a bag but she imagined he was smart enough to figure that out on his own. Surely he didn’t think they’d wrap this up in one afternoon? Regardless of their combined talents in this area, that seemed unlikely.

She rose to go speak to Hilly McNaster about arranging a room for Jack. Things were definitely looking more entertaining now!

 

* * *

 

Her eyes cut through the dark to watch him as they slogged up the beach. He was a bit more encumbered than she, what with the three piece suit and overcoat, but he didn’t seem the least upset about their current condition. He’d followed her into the drink easily enough and his only complaint upon exiting the water was that his one pair of shoes was now drenched. He’d handed her his dripping hat and promptly plopped down in the sand to remove them. She followed his example and they continued on their way in bare feet.

Jack had been a surprising delight since his arrival in Queenscliff. She didn’t know if it was the sea air, the escape from the confines of his office or the conversation they’d recently had setting some—well, perimeters seemed the best word for it—regarding their relationship, but whatever it was that had freed him, she was all for it!

He remained steadfastly proper about the job, even refusing her offer of champagne that first night, but his admonishments of her, sometimes less than by-the-book, methods were half-hearted at best and his attitude one of ease and good humour.

“Are you cold, Miss Fisher?” he asked as he shrugged off his dripping overcoat and shook it. “I’d offer my coat, but as it’s soaking wet I don’t think it’d be much help.”

He removed his suit coat as well and unbuttoned his waistcoat, flapping it about his waist to shake off the drops. She couldn’t help but notice the way his shirtsleeves clung to his arms, the wet cotton transparent enough to provide a glimpse of what looked like well developed musculature.

“I’m fine Jack. Quite warm enough,” she said, running her eyes over him thoroughly now that light from the street lamps lit their way. He was carrying half his wardrobe in his arms. Anything still on his body was wet and clinging to him. His hair flopped down over his forehead and he looked ten years younger.

“I must look a mess,” she said, feeling something akin to nerves and smoothing down her hair.

“You look wet, Miss Fisher. That’s all. Certainly far less a mess than I,” he said with a fond smile. “How do you propose we get back into the house like this?”

“I’m sure most everyone will be sound asleep. We could try the kitchen door. I left the front unlocked but it might be wise to remove our wet things before heading upstairs.”

“But doesn’t the young man, Kip, sleep in the kitchen?”

“So he does” she said, frowning at the snag, “well, then, the front door it is!”

“We’ll drip all over Mrs. McNaster’s carpets!”

“Have you had a look around that place, Jack? With the current lack of upkeep I doubt she’ll notice.”

He shrugged and followed her up the front step. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob and turned to him, placing her finger to her lips to signal silence. He rolled his eyes at the unnecessary instruction.

She turned the knob but the door stood fast when she tried to push it open. She tried again, throwing her weight into it.

“Is there a problem, Miss Fisher.”

“I left it unlocked!” She said, turning to him in some desperation. “I’m sure of it!”

“Well then someone must have locked it behind you.”

“Gerald was still in his study. I noticed the light under his door on my way out,” she sighed.

Jack walked to the side of the house looking up to the window of Gerald McNaster’s study. “The light is out now,” he said.

“So I see. But how does that help us?” She said, dryly.

“Well. The window is open,” he said.

“It’s also two stories up.”

“There’s a trellis,” he said, his voice full of mischief.

“Are you serious, Jack?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Miss Fisher?”

She smiled broadly. “Who are you and what have you done with Jack Robinson?”

“I’ll climb up and then come down and open the door for you,” he said, wrapping his hand around a rung of the trellis and tugging to see if it was secure.

“If it can hold you, it can hold me,” she said. “We’ll both go through the window.”

“Phryne, there’s no need for both of us to climb.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Jack?” She said, already putting her shoes back on in preparation.

He scrambled to catch up to her, putting his outer clothes back on as well so that he wouldn’t have to carry them.

“You first,” he said, “so I can catch you if you fall.”

She grasped on to the trellis, pulled herself up and began to climb. She glanced down at him as he took his place beneath her.

“Are you sure you don’t simply prefer that position because of the view?” she asked, cheekily.

“You doubt my gallantry? I’m crushed, but now that you mention it...”

She flashed him a brilliant smile and turned to her task, reaching the top quickly and scrambling through the window unscathed. She turned to help him through when he reached the window frame.

“No need,” he said, trying to shrug off her hands. She looped them under his arms and tugged.

“Phryne,” he struggled, “let go. You’re only making it more difficult!”

“I’ve got you, Jack. Let me help.”

“I don’t need your help,” he said, but she’d already given one more great tug just as his foot hit the sill and he lost his balance, tumbling into the room and taking them both down to the floor with a resounding thud.

“Oh dear!” she cried just as they went over. She landed on her back. Jack was face down and partially on top of her. He lifted his head and glared.

“Happy now?”

She looked at him, sprawled between her legs, his hands on either side of her hips. His hat was cocked to one side and his head was hovering just above the juncture of her thighs. She pressed her lips together, trying to stop the laugher bubbling up inside her. He looked down, recognizing his somewhat salacious position. His eyes went wide in embarrassment and then the absurdity of the situation took hold and he snorted out a laugh.

That broke her and the laughter she’d been holding in burst free. He scrambled up her body, placing his hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.

“Shh!” he warned, clearly on the edge of riotous laughter himself. “You’ll wake the house!”

She tried to calm herself but it was futile. It was one of those times when you know it’s entirely inappropriate, like at a funeral or during a quiet and serious moment in a play, but you are hit with what can only be described as the giggles. Not only is it out of your control to stop but also highly contagious.

They ended up clinging to each other, each burying their heads in the other’s shoulder to muffle the sound, while shaking with uncontrollable laughter until they were crying. When they had calmed down and stopped gasping for breath, he stood and held out his hand to help her to her feet. They crept from the room and snuck, hand in hand, down the hall to her room.

“Good night, Miss Fisher,” he said, with a very serious nod of his head for someone so damp and disheveled. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

She reached up to push a wet curl from his forehead. “My pleasure, Inspector.”

She watched him walk away to his room, his overcoat hanging limply from his shoulders, his shoes squelching with each step.

“Goodnight, Jack,” she whispered, leaning against her door frame, a large, and rather stupid, grin on her face.


	4. It's Just a Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got long so I've split it into two. I've posted both today.

 

* * *

The ride came to a stop and once he’d caught his breath, he stood and stepped from the car, holding out his hand to help her disembark. She smoothed her raven hair before slipping her cool fingers easily into his palm. She lifted her head to his, her eyes glowing, an awestruck expression on her face.

“Was it all you hoped, Miss Fisher?”

“It was fantastic!” she exclaimed. “At one point, toward the end, I was lifted clear out of the seat and it felt like I was floating! If not for the safety bar I believe I might have flown away!”

“It can’t be more thrilling than piloting an airplane.”

“Well, no. But it’s a different kind of thrilling. Everything is so completely outside of one’s control. It’s a marvel of engineering, don’t you think? And all simply for amusement. Remarkable!”

“The early roller coasters were the Russian ‘sliding’ mountains. Made man mountains of snow reinforced by wooden supports, ridden down on sleds. As they evolved railway tracks were employed, with wheeled carts locked to them.”

“Thus the name ‘Scenic Railway,’ Jack?” she teased. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

He blushed, falling silent and she immediately regretted poking fun. In anyone else the breadth of knowledge about seemingly everything would be annoying but he wasn’t showing off or lecturing. There simply was no limit to his enthusiasm for learning and he enjoyed being able to share his discoveries. She found it endearing.

She looped her hand through his arm, bouncing a little with residual energy, as they made their way down the wooden ramp. She saw him glance at her out of the corner of his eye and his fond expression told her she was forgiven.

“You enjoyed it too, didn’t you, Jack?” She'd heard him laughing beside her. It was a sound to which she was growing very quickly attached.

“I did. Very much.”

“Shall we go again?”

His steely and serious gaze met her sparkling eyes in silent agreement and they hurried their steps around to the back of the line. Two go arounds proved enough and after securing some ice creams, they settled side by side on a bench to watch the Great Scenic Railway run its course, listening to the excited cries of its passengers.

They stayed at the park a bit longer. They rode the carousel and the Noah’s Ark attraction then walked the grounds, arm in arm, taking in the sights and talking. It was growing dark by the time they again passed through the gaping mouth of Mr. Moon. He walked her home and had they been able to read each other’s minds, both would have learned that the other was thinking it had been the most enjoyable afternoon in recent memory.

“Is this typical of how you spend your days off, Inspector?” She asked.

“At Luna Park? No, Miss Fisher. I don’t think I’ve been since before the war.”

“What do you do with your free time?”

“I suppose it depends.”

“Tell me. What’s a typical day off for Jack Robinson. No—not a typical one. Tell me what a good day off is for you. What do you enjoy doing when you have time for yourself?”

“A good day,” he repeated absently, inclining his head in a manner increasingly familiar to her.

It occurred to her then, that as well as they were coming to know each other, she had no idea what he did in his time away from the station—away from her.

“I tend not to like being idle—though I can sit for hours with a good book,” he began, “but usually I require some physical activity. I can’t really relax if there is work to be done. Tidying my home or garden. Making sure needed repairs are seen to and the washing done.”

“I said a good day, Jack. All you’ve talked about is doing chores. This is what brings you joy?” She rolled her eyes.

“No,” he said, “but there are always things that need taking care of before I can enjoy myself. We’re not all blessed with such efficient help as you. I do have a housekeeper that comes in on occasion but Mrs. Garrett is getting on in years.”

“And, rather than let her go, you just smile and pick up after she’s gone,” she said, affectionately. He shrugged. “Once the work is done, what then, Jack?”

“Ideally, if the weather is fine, I’ll take an extended bicycle ride.”

“Through the uncharted wilds of North Richmond?” she said, echoing a conversation they’d recently had.

“Quite a bit further now,” he said, with a glint in his eye.

She tightened the hand on his bicep, registering its solid feel. It brought to mind the wiry and powerful musculature he’d displayed on the beach that day at Queenscliff.

“What is it you like about it?” She asked.

“The freedom mostly. From the beginning it was the freedom. To go where I want, when I want, under my own power. It can be strenuous or leisurely. It’s entirely up to me. I can veer from the beaten paths and find myself utterly alone in quiet and beautiful places.”

“Sounds lovely.”

He nodded and they walked on in silence for a moment.

“Can you ride a bicycle, Miss Fisher?” He asked.

Phryne blinked.

“Of course I can ride a bicycle,” she said, irritated by the way her voice pitched upward.

He cleared his throat. “Then, perhaps you’d like to go for a ride one day?”

“Is that an invitation, Inspector?”

“I’d be glad of the company,” he said.

“That sounds lovely, Jack.”

* * *

 

Phryne blew through the front door and announced to her staff that she needed to learn to ride a bicycle.

“Right now, Miss?” Dot asked in alarm. She was already in her robe and heating a cup of cocoa before bed but she was willing to put that aside.

“Tomorrow will be soon enough, Dot.”

The very next morning, Dot borrowed a push bike from her younger brother and the lessons began. They got off to a rough start when Dot insisted a skirt was proper bicycling attire.

“What rot!” Phryne said, donning a pair of well cut trousers and heading out to the alley.

Dot had been imminently patient, and a little overly protective. She ran alongside the bicycle, holding onto the back of the seat in fear until Phryne shooed her away.

After nearly toppling once or twice Phryne had mastered the new skill. She was enjoying herself immensely while at the same time making poor Dot apoplectic at the speed with which she rode, and the sharp turns she took, and the abrupt stops she made. All of which Dot repeatedly complained of. Dot had plenty of advice, which Phryne happily ignored.

After that there’d been nothing left to do but impatiently await an invitation from Jack.

 

* * *

 

Mr. Butler turned from the stove when he heard her step.

“Good morning, Miss.” His measured tone hid any surprise at her early rising.

“Yes, it is,” Phryne agreed.

She beamed her thousand watt smile and snatched a scone from the plate in the center of the table. She didn’t bother to sit as she slathered it with freshly made lemon curd. She took a large bite before reaching for the cup he held out to her.

“I need to rush off, this morning, Mr. Butler, but would you see to my guest once I’ve gone? I didn’t want to wake him. Just provide a cup of tea and perhaps some toast. No need to go overboard,” she said with a casual wave of the hand holding the half eaten scone.

“Of course, Miss. Any message you’d like me to convey?”

“Message?” she said, blankly. “Oh—for the guest you mean? No. No message.” She shook her head, her black bob swaying, then hurriedly drained her cup of tea.

“May I ask what has you on the move so early in the morning? Is there a new case?”

“Strictly pleasure today. I’m meeting Inspector Robinson for a bicycle ride," she said, her eyes shining like a child at christmas.

“Oh, is that this morning? I hadn’t realized.”

“Yes,” she smiled. “And I won’t be home for lunch. Jack said he would pack a basket for us.”

“I’d have been happy to provide that, Miss. Had I known,” Mr. Butler said with dismay.

“I did suggest it, but Jack insisted I not trouble you,” she said happily, popping the last of the scone into her mouth and daintily licking her fingertips.

“Very well,” Mr. Butler said, unable to feel too put out in the face of the Miss Fisher’s obvious enthusiasm.

He smiled as he watched her go, then turned his attention to making a tray to take upstairs to her guest. Once the gentleman caller was fed and dismissed he could get on with the rest of his duties.


	5. It's Just a Ride (part 2)

Phryne left her Hispano at the curb, stepped out and looked across the street to Jack’s front garden. He stood up from where he’d been crouched behind a bicycle and waved in greeting.

“Right on time, Miss Fisher.”

She couldn’t help but thrill a little at the sight of yet another variation to her Detective Inspector. He’d been surprising her since the day they met and never more so than lately. The initial impression of a dour, stern man had long ago given way but she still didn’t feel she had the full measure of her friend.

She took quick stock of the version before her now, cataloging it for future study. Absent was the tailored three piece suit and tie, the only trace of his usual attire was the ever present, worn, brown brogues. From there her gaze ascended to take in faded trousers of a sturdy cotton, reined in at one ankle with a thin black elastic band, presumably to keep the cuff away from the bicycle chain’s grease. (She thought of her own full trousers wishing she’d had similar foresight).

His hands rested on the bicycle between them. One on the cognac colored saddle, the other gripping the chrome handle bars. Her eyes swept up the corded muscles of his forearms, bared by the rolled sleeves of his collarless shirt. The Fair Isle pattern of his knit vest stretched pleasingly across his chest and he wore no tie. Her eyes lingered briefly on the hollow at the base of his throat.

“Does it meet your requirements, Miss Fisher?”

Phryne blinked, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.

“My requirements?”

“It’s old, but in sound condition,” he said.

“Indeed. And, not so old, Jack,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. He made an admonishing tilt of his head.

“The _bicycle_ , Miss Fisher. I was able to borrow it from my neighbor for the day. She’s getting on in years so it doesn’t get as much use as it once did but I’ve given it a thorough inspection. It will serve you well.”

“I’m sure it will,” she said.

She took a moment to examine her ride. It was a utilitarian enough push bike. Clearly an older model, as he’d explained. The finish had faded from its original glossy black to a dull, charcoal grey. The saddle had spiderweb like veins running along the surface but was not cracked or torn and the leather looked as though it had recently been given a good conditioning. There was a lidded wicker basket hanging from the handle bars with a cherry red silk ribbon slipped among the weave and tied into a bow at the front.

“Was this your touch, Jack?” she asked with a quirk of her eyebrow. The ribbon was clearly new, it’s color still vibrant and the bow crisp.

“Ah,” he said, fingering the bow and dropping his head slightly. “That was my neighbor’s doing. She may have made some assumptions when I asked to borrow the bike. She was...pleased...by the prospect of my entertaining a lady friend.”

“Are all your neighbors so interested in your personal life, Jack?”

“Mrs. Everett more than most,” he conceded. “She was widowed several years ago and I help her out from time to time with some of the more physical chores that need doing. In exchange she has me to tea and tells me I’m alone too much. She was very interested in knowing why I needed the bicycle today.”

“And, would she approve of me, do you think?”

“Who would not, Miss Fisher?”

“Plenty,” Phryne laughed. She took hold of the handle bar and he relinquished his grip on the bicycle. “It is a sweet thing,” she said, running her hand over the leather seat before swinging her leg over it and resting her foot on one raised pedal. “Do thank her for me.”

“Here,” he said, pulling a kerchief from his pocket and dropping to one knee at her side, “may I?” He inclined his head toward the billowing fabric at her ankle. “I’d hate for this to tangle in the chain and cause a spill.”

She nodded her assent and watched his head bend in concentration as he cinched the fabric tight to her ankle with the kerchief.

 _He’s had a trim_ , she thought, noticing that his hair was more closely cropped at the base of his skull than the last time she’d seen him. She followed the neat line along his neck, then up and around the top of his ear.

He gave her ankle a little squeeze then rose. He pulled a flat cap from his back pocket settling it on his head and then retrieved his own bicycle from the shed. They set out, Phryne following Jack’s lead. It was a quiet morning without much traffic. When she was comfortable she allowed herself the occasional glance at the view immediately before her and found it very pleasant. The cotton trousers fit him snuggly.

She’d always liked his body and the way he moved. He had a very confident bearing, as if he knew what his body was capable of and was in complete command of it. It was one of the reasons she’d sometimes wondered about how he might use it in the bedroom.

As a rule she wasn’t one to spend a lot of time fantasizing. If she found herself alone in bed and in need of release, she was perfectly capable of finding it without having to imagine anyone else’s hands upon her, but she’d recently found herself thinking about Jack in bed.

Not luridly. She’d be lying in the dark, drifting off to sleep and a scene would play out in her head. A sort of rerun of some moment or other. His open disdain for Aunt Prudence’s spiritual medium had provided a wealth of entertainment, what with the sly jokes and Aunt P’s resulting pique. Phryne secretly adored the way he never seemed cowed by her formidable Aunt and she suspected it was one of the reasons he’d earned a sort of grudging respect from the old battle-axe.

Another favorite memory to revisit was their stakeout under the pier in Queenscliff. The way he’d scolded her for bringing fish and chips to an investigation and then eaten his full share and a good portion of hers as well. In fact the whole Queenscliff adventure was revisited frequently. These late night remembrances helped lull her to sleep feeling light hearted and content.

There was so much about Jack that she’d come to appreciate. His trust in her abilities, his sharp wit, his wry sense of humor and steadfast support. His friendship had come to mean more to her than she could say.

Jack looked back at her, probably to make sure she wasn’t falling behind. She gave him a little wave to let him know she was doing just fine.

Jack looked back to make sure Phryne wasn’t falling behind. It wasn’t often that he rode with a companion and, though she’d assured him she knew how to ride a bike, he imagined it had been awhile and he didn’t want to overwhelm her this first time out.

The little wave of her hand and her smile, radiating a childlike enthusiasm, made him realize he needn’t have worried. She looked to be doing just fine and thoroughly enjoying herself. He found it astonishing that, despite her access to some truly extraordinary experiences, she still managed to find such joy in something as ordinary as a bicycle ride.

When they’d made it outside the city limits and could comfortably ride abreast, he dropped back to her side so they could talk.

“There are a couple of paths we could take, depending on your preference. One is straight and fairly level. It’s not as scenic, but it’s pleasant. It’s the shorter, less difficult of the two.”

“And the other?”

“More challenging but better scenery. There’s several ups and downs and a fairly steep hill toward the end, but the view from the top is breathtaking.”

“Given what you know about me, Jack, which do you think I’d prefer?” She tested.

He turned his head to her, his lips curving up into a half smile. “We’ll head for the hills then.”

The pace was not as brisk as he was used to but the continuous conversation made the first hour pass quickly and enjoyably. By the river he slowed, as he often did, to look out over the water. He told her of how he would ride this way as a boy and imagine himself on a boat heading toward the open sea.

“Where were you going?”

“Any number of places. England, Peru, Outer Mongolia.”

“What is it about a body a water that stirs the imagination of a child so?” She asked, rhetorically.

She told him of her sister and how they played pirate girls—an old washtub for a ship, the day’s laundry flapping above their heads for a makeshift sail. They’d been miles from the water but she’d been convinced she could smell the sea air and that it was a salt spray assaulting her cheek, not the dirty breeze and swirling tornados of grime from Collingwood’s streets. She looked out over the water wistfully.

“I saw the Henley Regatta here once,” she said. “I climbed a tree along these very banks.”

“I watched that race from my father’s shoulders,” he said, picturing a young Phryne Fisher—with long, untamed locks and a shabby dress, scrambling too high and clinging too far out on a limb—watching the same spectacle he viewed from his safe and secure perch.

His heart clenched at the wonder of her. In many ways she’d had to raise herself. The rare times she’d mentioned her childhood it was with offhand remarks that painted a grim picture of a general parental neglect bordering on abuse. And yet, instead of breaking her or making her bitter, she embraced her life and made more of it than most people born under far better circumstances. Himself included.

They turned from the river then and when they reached the base of the hill he’d warned her of, he let her take the lead so that he wouldn’t outpace her and leave her panting in his wake. Again, he needn’t have worried. She didn’t exactly match the speed he was capable of, but her pace far exceeded what he’d expected of her. He’d yet to find a time when she didn’t match him, or even exceed him, and he couldn’t help but feel a swelling of pride at her seemingly endless abilities. Though why he should take even a ounce credit for them he didn’t know.

“You weren’t lying about the challenge,” she said, once they’d reached the top, “or the view.”

They turned off the path and stood straddling their rides, feet flat on the earth, taking in the valley stretched out below them. The wind at this elevation was brisk and welcome. She removed her sun hat and let the breeze tousle her hair, running her finger through the slightly damp strands.

“Let’s stop here for lunch,” he said, dismounting his bike and steering it away to lean it against a nearby tree. She followed suit, watching Jack as he bent over the saddle bags that hung from a carrier rack mounted over the bicycle’s back wheel. He spread a yellow and black plaid wool blanket over the ground and gestured for her to sit.

An easy silence fell as they ate, then he cleared away the detritus, packing it away in the saddle bags for disposal later.

Jack quietly slid back onto the blanket at Phryne’s side. She was on her back, her hands behind her head, eyes closed, legs crossed at the ankles. Her lips were curved into a small, satisfied smile. He was reminded of a painting she owned that he’d once viewed. It had been stolen from her during a case that had been highly personal for her, bringing up a myriad of bad memories. 

She’d told him of her days as an artist’s model in Paris and he’d known she was the subject of the stolen painting. He was intrigued, and when he returned it to her after its recovery, he was pleased when she began to unwrap it in his presence. He had watched with anticipation, curious to see a depiction of her as a young woman. What he hadn’t considered was that it might be a nude and his surprise at that discovery had shown on his face.

She’d clearly enjoyed teasing him and he didn’t begrudge her that. He was just happy to see her smiling again. And, after his initial surprise he was able to take a more critical look. It really was magnificent. Truly rivaling anything he’d seen in a museum.

What had struck him most about it, even in his brief viewing, was how accurately the artist had captured her spirit. The girl in the painting exuded a bold confidence that belied her young age. This was no naive ingenue. This was a woman that knew her own strength. Knew her worth and owned her person.

And yet, she still appeared open and giving and generous. Pierre Sarcelle had been able to see all that in the young Phryne Fisher and, with simple paint and canvas, he’d shown the world.

Jack could see it all too. Not just now, as she reclined beside him on this hill, but almost from the first moment they’d met and every moment since. Even the more exasperating of them.

A gust of wind took up and shook a few strands of her hair loose.They fell across her face but she ignored them. He reached out and was halfway to gently sweeping them back into place before it dawned on him that to touch her like that would be too intimate. Too close to crossing the boundaries he’d set for his relationship with her. He drew his hand back thankful she hadn’t seen him.

As if feeling him watching, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her expression curious. He blushed a little to have been caught staring at her. He was afraid to think what expression he might have held, but she didn’t call him on it.

“Did you bake the meat pies yourself?” She asked, turning the topic easily to something safe and neutral.

“Did you like them?”

“They were delicious.”

“I’m glad, but can’t take credit. I picked them up from the pie cart yesterday evening after my shift.”

“And the biscuits? I recognize the recipe. They’re from your secret stash, are they not?” She propped herself up on on elbow, her body facing his.

“Very good, Miss Fisher,” he smiled.

“Tell me, Jack. Where do those come from. Who makes them for you?”

“You must allow me some secrets, seeing as my hiding place is clearly no longer one.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’m sure I can figure it out on my own.”

“That’s hardly allowing me my secrets, Miss Fisher,” he complained.

"Oh you have plenty of secrets, Inspector," she said. "And I intend to unravel them all."

The air between them felt suddenly charged and crackling. The proximity of her body, laid out beside him on the blanket, was proving a challenging distraction. He thought he could almost feel the heat radiating from her. He shifted and quickly rose to his feet.

“I think we’d better start back, the weather looks like it might be taking a turn.” He tugged at the blanket. She clucked her irritation, but rolled off so he could gather it away.

The wind had indeed picked up, so instead of donning her sun hat, she tucked it into the covered basket for safe keeping as they started back down the hill.

“Phryne! Be careful!” he called, as she sped down the path in front of him. She was letting the steep decline provide all momentum and was being propelled down at a rate that alarmed him. Her whoop of excitement carried back to him on the breeze. There was no trace of fear in it. She was clearly enjoying the ride.

He eased up on his own brakes and bent over the handle bars, increasing his speed and closing the gap that had formed between them.

When they got back to his home Phryne was tired, but exhilarated, and not quite ready for the day to be over. She suggested he join her at her home for supper.

“I wouldn’t want to put Mr. Butler to any trouble,” he said. He pulled off his cap and scratched at his head, setting his curls free and causing her breath to catch in her throat. He really was terribly handsome.

“It’s no trouble, Jack. He’s making it anyway and I’d put money on him anticipating my invitation. He’s prescient that way—and you have to eat!”

“All right,” he smiled. Mr. Butler’s cooking was far better than his own. “Thank you, I accept. Let me get cleaned up and I’ll be over later.”

“Excellent!” she cried, clapping her hands together.

She had a powerful urge to lean in then, and kiss him. Maybe just on the cheek. An innocent gesture, really. After all, they were friends. Good friends. He was fast becoming one of her favorite people to spend time with and she hoped for many more days like today.

It had been wonderful, and easy, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world now to kiss him. Except he’d drawn a line in the sand between them and she had to respect that. She wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable. She drew back.

“I’ll expect you in an hour or so, then,” she said. “Thank you, Jack, for a lovely afternoon.”


	6. Equally Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack each deal with their growing desire for the other in their own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events in this chapter prompted me to change to the rating of this story since I felt it moved a bit outside of G territory.

* * *

 

“Miss Fisher! To what do I owe the pleasure,” Jack said, looking up from his desk. He was genuinely pleased to see her and possibly even more pleased to see the basket slung over her arm.

“Dot was bringing lunch to Hugh and I thought I’d tag along. Hungry?” She asked, lifting the basket in her hands to give him a better view. She knew the delicious aromas were already drifting across the room to tempt him.

“I thought I was being put on rations,” he said wryly, inclining his head and peering up at her.

She waved away his concern with a sweep of her hand and plopped the basket down onto the desktop, settling herself beside it. She reached across and plucked the case file right from his hand. He let it go without a fight, smiling indulgently at her. Honestly, he’d seen small children with less curiosity—and better manners. He sat back watching as she reviewed his report.

Genevieve Smith, a.k.a Genevieve Lemaire had done quite a lot of damage in her short time in Melbourne. She was responsible for a number of burglaries in several cities, two murders and, not incidentally, the near destruction of the Flueri sister’s fashion house, from which she selected her victims in her capacity as a model.

“This is very thorough, Jack. I’m impressed,” Phryne said.

“Thank you,” Jack replied, “let's hope my bosses are as well.”

“I’m sure they will be. You’ve managed to do what the authorities in Sydney and all those other places couldn’t.”

“They didn’t have you,” he said, earning him a gorgeous smile.

“I see they’ve located her contact in Paris.”

“With his testimony, and the connection to the cases in Sydney, she’ll be locked away for quite some time,” he said, “if she doesn’t hang.”

“She cut a rather romantic figure, don’t you think?” Phryne said, dropping the file back down on his desk. “The beautiful jewel thief outsmarting police across the globe.”

“She’s a murderer, Miss Fisher.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” she conceded, “still, it’s a shame.”

“Her life might be spared,” he said, lifting the lid of the basket to peer inside, “the authorities don’t like to execute women. The public tends to frown.”

She slapped his hand away from the basket and began dishing out the contents, loading his plate generously with his favorites before serving herself. She took a seat on the other side of the desk and watched him happily tucking into his lunch.

“Oddly enough, the publicity isn’t hurting the Flueri sister’s business. You’re coming this evening, aren’t you?” She asked, innocently.

“Where?”

“To The House of Fleuri, of course.”

“To the fashion parade? Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because you’re invited! They want to thank you!”

“That’s not necessary. I was only doing my job.”

“You must come, Jack. It’d be rude to refuse the invitation. Besides, Dot will be modeling. She would very much like Hugh to be there and you know he won’t go alone.”

“I’m sure he can find someone else to accompany him.”

She glared at him.

“Do men even go to these things?” He whinged, but she could tell he was wavering and laid the bait.

“They’ve asked me to model as well. I hear the gown is stunning,” she said. When that didn’t seem enough to sway him, she sighed, adding dryly, “they’ll be serving hors d’oeuvres.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Sir?” The young constable knocked on his door just as he was putting on his coat to leave. It was late. The interruption to attend the event at the fashion house had put him a little behind and he really wanted to get home and pick up where he’d left off in the novel he was reading.

“What is it?” Jack asked, wearily.

“The photographer has just returned this. I wasn’t sure what do to with it.”

From the man’s hand hung a necklace laden with more diamonds and some of the largest emeralds Jack had ever seen.

“Are they real, sir?” The constable asked, his eyes agog.

“They are. Thank you for bringing it in. I’ll get this back to its owner,” Jack said, reaching out his hand. The man dropped the necklace into his palm quickly as if it had suddenly grown hot and was threatening to burn him.

It was a spectacular necklace and Jack would very much like to see it around its owner’s lovely neck, but odds weren’t good that he’d ever accompany her anywhere such an item would be appropriate. His only chance was the unlikely event that someone dropped dead at one of those society parties of hers and he was called to the scene. He ran the necklace through his hands, a little in awe of how much it was probably worth. She always seemed so at ease in his world that he sometimes forgot she belonged in another.

He was glad she’d talked him into attending the event at the fashion house. If she hadn’t, he’d have missed seeing her in that dress. And what a dress it was! He couldn’t imagine any other woman being able to carry it off but she’d looked absolutely regal.

He checked his watch. It was late, but if he hurried he might be able to return the necklace tonight. He really didn’t want it lying around the station.

She was on her way up to bed when he arrived. She was standing on the staircase, still wearing that incredible dress and lit from behind so that she positively glowed. The vision stirred his blood.

It must have shown on his face because, when she offered him a nightcap, the way her mouth caressed the word seemed to imply something entirely different than their usual drinks in her parlour.

He raked his eyes over her, taking in the glory of her. The gown's elaborate beading drew his eye to her graceful neck and out over her alabaster shoulders. The sly smile in her eyes and the promise of what lay behind her, at the top of the stairs, had his body humming.

That dress was lethal to be sure. He beat a hasty retreat before falling victim to it. He felt his escape tonight had been a narrow one and he’d had to work hard to keep his mind on the road as he drove to his home. Visions of Phryne in that dress kept creeping in to distract him.

As he undressed for bed he thought again about the dress. He pictured all that elaborate beadwork and wondered how one even got into a dress like that. That subsequently led to questions of how she’d get out of it. And what she might have on underneath. With her shoulders entirely exposed she couldn’t possibly have on a camisole or brassiere.

This line of thought was not doing much for his attempts to unwind. He went to the front room and poured himself a small glass of whisky, gulping it down in one. The heat slid down his throat, settling in his gut, warming him. That had the opposite effect he’d been hoping for, only adding to the already elevated temperature of his blood. He poured himself a second portion.

It wasn’t new, this desire. He’d been dealing rather admirably with it for some time now but perhaps not as well as he should as of late. Since his decision not to pursue this passion he’d been overconfident, letting it grow unchecked until tonight it came roaring forth, demanding his attention.

He considered a cold shower, going so far as to run the water but once naked couldn’t bring himself to step into the cold spray.

Because, if he were being honest, he liked the way he was feeling. There’d been so many nights when he’d worked to fight this kind of thinking. Maybe, if just this once he gave in to it, he could exorcise it or at least blunt the edges, making it manageable again.

He finished his drink, set his tumbler on the edge of the sink and step into the bath. He closed his eyes, let the hot water flow over him and allowed his mind and body to go, unrestrained, where they wanted to go. To her, on the stairs, in that dress.

It didn’t take long. A few desperate strokes and he spent himself with a furtive cry. He let his head fall to rest against the cool tile, his body replete and relaxed.

 

* * *

 

Phryne stood on the stairs for a long minute after Jack had gone before heading up to her room. She’d been feeling sleepy before he showed up at her door but now she felt wide awake and stimulated.

As she labored to remove the dress—it was lovely, but rather complicated to get in and out of—it occurred to her that recently she’d been forgoing her regular nights out on the town. It had been ages since she’d gone dancing.

The thought of spinning in the arms of some dashing man, enjoying his admiring stare and his touch would be very welcome right about now to relieve her restlessness. Unfortunately, it was too late to do anything about it tonight. If only she’d been able to convince Jack to stay. For a minute there she thought he might. He was looking at her as though he’d like to eat her alive and, honestly, she’d have let him.

She sometimes wished she weren’t so fond of him. Weren’t so inclined to respect his wishes. She was fairly sure it wouldn’t take much effort to tip him over the edge but she cared for him too much to push. She’d just have to settle for the friendship and benign flirtations. In its way, that was satisfying enough.

She did sometime wonder what it might have been like had they acted on thier mutual attraction early in their relationship. Would it really be so hard to maintain thier working partnership if they were also lovers? It seemed to her that it might only add to the excitement. Investigating crimes often led to highly charged situations. The thrill of the chase. Life and death on the line. Imagine taking that rush of adrenaline and channeling it into carnal pleasures! Unraveling Jack Robinson. Watching that stern, outer veneer he’d so perfected crack and crumble beneath her hands, her lips.

She was beginning to see the depths of him that she’d always suspected where there. She was more at ease with him then she’d ever been with a man and he was increasingly at ease with her. She enjoyed their comfortable camaraderie and learning new things about him, but to cross that last threshold—to witness his ultimate surrender. She was quite sure that would be something to experience.

She finally managed to undo all the fastenings on the infernal dress and happily slipped out of it. It was probably a good thing tonight had not been the night she’d managed to tempt Jack to her bed. The thought of his large hands trying to work those tiny, hidden fasteners was laughable.

She slipped into her favorite peach silk pajama set and settled between the sheets. As often happened, she replayed some of her favorite moments from the day in an attempt to settle her mind. The first image was Dot in that dress, looking radiant and so happy. Then came the smile on Jack’s face as she, herself, had walked that center aisle. She’d heard the excited murmurs of the crowd but it was his smile, the appreciative nod of his head, that had sent her heart soaring.

Now, she thought of his eyes as she’d stood before him on her staircase. He’d all but told her he didn’t trust himself to stay any longer, calling the hour too dangerous. _‘Lethal’_ he’d said, as though the mere combination of her and that dress might be enough to actually kill a man.

All the dancing in the world couldn’t compete with the way she’d felt when his eyes had swept down her body, as real as any caress.

She rolled on to her back, running her hands up her torso to cup her breasts, her eyes squeezing shut. One hand moved slowly down and slipped below the waistband of her pants, her legs fell open. A short while later she came, her body arching up off the bed, his name a whisper on her lips.

 


	7. A Place to Rest Your Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a rough night and seeks comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING*
> 
> References to domestic violence and death.
> 
> This chapter takes a dark turn and alludes to a horrible crime. I wrote it after something similar happened in real life in the city where I live. There isn't anything really graphic but I think the imagery is there and wanted to provide warning.

* * *

 

 

Phryne hummed quietly, swinging her beaded bag as she walked. She loved the sound of her heels on the pavement at this hour when it seemed the whole world was asleep. Not even the birds were singing yet.

She’d finally taken a night for herself and gone dancing. It had been just what she’d needed. She hadn’t found anyone interesting enough to invite home but there’d been several men that had been excellent partners on the dance floor and the drinks were tasty and refreshing. For tonight, that had been enough.

The pre-dawn air was cool and crisp. The sun would be rising soon and she could see the edge of light creeping along the horizon. The moon and stars were still visible but fading quickly. She was so mesmerized watching the colors of the sky shift and change before her eyes that she nearly missed her gate. She grabbed hold of the post in the knick of time and swung herself round from the sidewalk to her own front path. She glanced up at the door thinking of getting inside and removing her shoes. The dancing had been lovely but now her feet ached and she longed for a hot bath and satin sheets.

Her step faltered. In the shadow of her front porch she could just make out a dark form crouched on the step. She slipped her hand into her bag, her fingers closing around the dainty revolver she always carried.

The shadow unfolded revealing a tall, slim silhouette in a long overcoat and fedora. Her skipping heart settled back into its normal rhythm. She drop the gun and dug around for her keys as she continued her approach.

“Did you have a nice evening, Miss Fisher?”

“I did, Jack. And you?”

She already knew the answer to that. As she drew nearer the acrid smell of smoke assaulted her and she stopped a few feet away, surveying him closely. His coat was smudge with soot. He removed his hat. His hair was more disheveled than she’d ever before seen. A riot of waves fell over his forehead and the cowlick, having finally defeated his pomade, stuck straight up from the crown. Most alarmingly though, was the haunted look in his eyes.

“Did you knock?” She asked easily.

“I didn’t want to disturb anyone at this hour.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “So, what was the plan? To sit here until someone opened the door?”

He shrugged.

“Come inside, Jack.”

She pushed the door open and he followed her in.

She gently took the hat from his hands—he was worrying the brim terribly and she feared he would ruin it—then helped him out of his coat, hanging it on the rack. She would have Dot work her magic on that later. He trailed her silently through to the kitchen and she put the kettle on.

“Or, should I get the whisky?” She asked.

He shook his head.

“Sit down then. The tea will be ready in a minute.”

She dug a clean handkerchief from her bag and dampened it at the sink. He held very still, sitting bolt upright in the chair, and allowed her to cradle his head and gently clean the grime from his face. The short hairs at the base of his skull tickled her palm. There was something about his supplicant posture that tugged desperately at her, making her want to pull him to her breast.

The kettle whistled and she turned to pull it off the heat before it woke the house. She set the pot on the table to brew and cut them each a slice of Dot’s nut loaf before sitting down beside him. He was watching her closely but had yet to say a word. She picked at the bread, waiting patiently until he was ready to speak. Or, if he preferred to just sit there with her, that was all right too. She wouldn’t ask what had brought him here.

“That’s a lovely dress. Were you dancing?” He asked.

“I was.”

She told him of her night at the Green Mill and the wonderful Jazz band from America.

He was always interested to hear her stories. She sometimes got the impression that he envied her, just a little. He didn’t begrudge her the freedom but she thought Jack had the kind of spirit and curiosity that, had he chosen a different profession, might lead him to haunts similar to the ones she frequented.

Not so much for the social aspect of it, and she wasn’t sure he was much for dancing, but there was an anthropologist in him that would like to be on the front edge of changing societal norms. To hear the newest music coming from far corners of the globe and observe the way it facilitated the mingling of people from varied walks of life. And who knows? Maybe it would turn out that he was an excellent dancer. She hoped she’d someday get the chance to know.

She told her tale in as entertaining a manner as possible but he wasn’t listening with his usual rapt attention. She didn’t mind. The sound of her voice broke the silence and he seemed to find it calming. When she finished they sat quietly, sipping at their tea and listening to the silence of a household in the minutes before it comes alive.

“A woman died tonight.” The words finally broke from him, his head bent over his cup, his eyes on the worn wood of her well scrubbed kitchen table.

“A friend of yours?”

“Not exactly. Well, maybe. I’m not sure how she saw me. Our paths crossed often, in the course of my duties. I hope she thought of me as a friend. I tried...”

He left the sentence abruptly unfinished, on a rising note, as though he wasn’t sure what it was he’d tried to do.

“To help her.” She finished for him.

He looked up at her as though questioning the truth of her statement. She held his eye. She didn’t need to know the circumstances to be sure that what she’d said was true. She only had to convince him of that. If he thought her words came from pity, he’d shut like a clam. She must have reached him, because after a short pause, he simply nodded and looked down at the table again.

It came out slowly after that and she didn’t press or interrupt him. It wasn’t a new or unique story but that didn’t make it any less singular—or tragic.

“I don’t think he could stand seeing her thriving. On her own,” he said.

The woman must have had the strength of a lion. She’d made it to the street and a neighbor had managed to smother the flames with a blanket. By all accounts she’d been completely engulfed. Phryne had seen such wounds before and thought perhaps it was for the best that she had succumbed to her injuries. She kept that thought to herself saying only that she was sure any pain had been brief, that the woman had probably been in too much shock to truly feel it. She desperately hoped that was true.

“You’re sure it was deliberately set? And that it was him?”

“She told me herself, as they took her away.”

“She was still concious when you arrived?”

“She was fighting to get back inside the house,” he said, his voice constricting.

The horror of that statement hit her like a brick wall.

“Children?” she asked, her own voice sounding strangled.

“A girl,” he said, his hands closing so tightly around his cup she worried he’d crush it.

“Did she get out?”

He nodded and she presumed it was he that had rescued the child, based on the state of him.

“They don’t think she’ll make it,” he said, his voice breaking for the first time. “I wasn’t fast enough.”

She fought the urge to placate him by telling him it wasn’t his fault. He wouldn’t want to hear that now even if, deep down, he knew it to be true.

“The suspect?” she asked.

“We found him a few blocks away. He reeked of petrol and his hands were badly burnt. He said he shouldn’t have gone there. He said she’d ruined his life. _His_ life.”

He looked up at her then, his face filled with a mix of anger, confusion and pain. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye and he wiped it away roughly before averting his gaze again.

Her fingers began to itch. She wanted to reach over and brush the hair from his eyes, pepper his forehead with soothing kisses, take his hand and lead him upstairs to her bed and fold herself around him. There wasn’t any heat in the impulse, other than the desire to comfort, but it unsettled her. Mostly because she couldn’t, or was afraid, to act on it. She didn’t know if it would be welcome.

She tentatively reached out and covered his hand with hers. He flinched slightly and she drew back, fearing she’d made the wrong move. She stood, turning away to fuss with the kettle on the stove to hide her sudden rush of emotions. She heard his chair scrape against the floor as his weight shifted. He cleared his throat and she knew he’d misinterpreted her retreat and was second guessing his decision to come to her.

“It’s early and you’ll be wanting your bed,” he said.

“Don’t. Don’t do that,” she scolded softly. She returned to her chair and firmly placed her hand over his again and giving it a squeeze. He met her eye and turned his hand in hers, closing his fingers tightly around her own.

“Finish your tea, Jack,” she said, “and then you’re going upstairs to rest. The guest room is all made up.”

“I need to get to the station.”

“Not for a few hours you don’t. I imagine you were out half the night. Where’s the perpetrator now?” She refused to call the suspect a man. He was not a man.

“In hospital. With my constable standing guard.”

“Then he’s not going anywhere. Eat something. Dot’s nut loaf is exceptional or I can make you some eggs.”

“Thank you but I’m not really hungry.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair and her heart clenched again.

“Then it’s upstairs to bed with you, Inspector,” Phryne said briskly. “You’re no good to anyone if you’re exhausted.”

“I have a bed at home, Miss Fisher.”

“The one in my guest room is closer.”

She took hold of his hand and led him up the stairs. In the guest room she pulled a pair of men’s silk pajamas from the chest. If he wondered why she had them, he didn’t ask and simply took them from her hands with a grateful nod.

“The bath is down the hall. You’ll find a clean towel in the cupboard. Leave your suit outside the bedroom door. I’ll have it seen to.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Hush, Jack.” She said. “You’re not trouble. Get yourself settled. I’m off to bed myself—unless there’s something more I can do for you? Some assistance in the bath, perhaps?”

Her eyebrow quirked up in a cheeky manner and he tilted his head at her inability to let the moment pass without introducing a touch of innuendo. She was gratified to see the spark of a smile in his eyes.

“I can take it from here. Sleep well, Miss Fisher.”

“You too, Jack.” She turned away as he headed for the bath.

“Phryne,” he said, quietly, “thank you.”

She halted her step for a second and nodded without turning around.

“You’re welcome, Jack. Always.”

She heard him shut himself into the bath then headed back to the kitchen to clear away the tea things and leave a note for Mr. Butler about looking after Jack’s clothing. When she came back upstairs the guest room door was closed and his suit sat folded neatly outside the door, just as she’d instructed. She recognized that his obedience was probably just to keep her from knocking and pushing her way into the room to take care of matters herself but it pleased her nonetheless.

She went to bed happy that he was learning to not only ask for, but to accept help and comfort. She was incredibly honored that tonight, when he’d needed just that, he’d come to her.

When she awoke a few hours later he was gone.


	8. There's no 'I' in Team

_“Besides, you have me on your team.”_

She’d said it so sweetly that Jack couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s nice, isn’t it, sir?”

“What's nice, Collins?” Jack was still staring at the door she’d just exited, his mind following after her.

“Having Miss Fisher on our team. It’s nice,” Constable Collins repeated.

“Oh.” Jack cleared his throat. “Better than having her opposing us!” He said, slapping his hand on the counter.

“Very true, sir,” Collins laughed.

Jack returned to his office, still smiling. Coming from most people such a statement, implying that all anyone needed to succeed was to have her on thier side, would sound self-aggrandizing. But Phryne wasn’t being egotistical (though in his opinion she had every right to be), she was being kind and supportive.

Supportive in a way he’d come to rely on more than he’d realized. They really were very much like teammates. Working toward a common goal in defense against forces that might plot to stop them.

He’d gotten used to her presence. He had come to expect and even enjoy her help, and her company, but this case was the first time he’d felt this kind of gratitude toward her. With her at his side he knew he’d be able to walk confidently into the home of his former wife’s fiancé.

Rosie’s second choice for a husband, Sidney Fletcher, had achieved a level of success well out of Jack’s reach. Unless he took steps to advance his career far beyond where it was today. The fact that he had no interest in doing so had been a bone of contention in his marriage.

Intellectually Jack knew that he wasn’t a failure, even if the thought occasionally crossed his mind. He hadn’t reached the level of success of a man like Fletcher, that was true, but not because he’d failed. He’d never tried. He wasn’t even playing in the same league. Because it didn’t matter to him. He’d never cared about obtaining success through power or money. He measured his success in how well he did the job of his choosing and by the people he helped.

His ex-wife had never understood that. Phryne did. She understood what drove him because she had a similar drive in her.

Having money was just a convenient fact of life for Phryne. She didn’t think it automatically made her a success or meant she was deserving of respect. Her life was easier for having money but he doubted it had fundamentally changed who she was, who she’d always been.

Recently Jack had begun to wonder if their worlds were really all that different. Strip away her money and status and they were just a man and a woman. A man and a woman with strikingly similar ideals and a connection that seemed to grow stronger each day. He trusted Phryne as surely as he had trusted the men he’d stood beside in France. This bond might not have been forged in the trenches of war but he and Phryne had fought battles of different sort together. And then come back the next day to fight again. Side by side.

Maybe his ideas of what held them apart from each other were outdated. As outdated as Rosie’s idea that success was inextricably linked to money and prestige.

Jack could see, when he looked in Phryne’s eyes, that she already thought him a success despite the absence of status and wealth. She didn’t see a lack of ambition. She saw his achievements. She happily stood by his side and when she introduced him to others, including her peers, she held her head high. She said his name, and his title, with a strength and pride in her voice that conveyed her respect and commanded it of others. He liked the way that made him feel.

_He liked the way he looked, in her eyes._

* * *

 

“So, then you solved the little stolen hat mystery? Well done,” Aurora Balfray said, with a falsely enthusiastic tone usually reserved for small children.

She and Phryne were very near the same age but Aurora always treated Phryne like someone far younger and infinitely less wise than herself. Any mention of Phryne’s achievements were met with an air of patient condescension, even though Aurora’s only real accomplishment in life had been to marry well, if one could call that an accomplishment.

“Lucky cap,” Phryne corrected, smiling thinly. “Yes. But the larger point is we solved two murders.”

She wondered why she even bothered discussing her work at these tedious luncheons of Aunt P’s if she wasn’t going to be taken seriously. She really ought to know better and deflect any conversation along these lines, but Bernadette had asked and Phryne was fond of the girl. She had the impression that poor Bunny, as she was called, was kept under tight wraps by her parents, leaving her a little starved for excitement.

“I thought that footballer was a suicide. Gerald was saying something about it but I tune him out when he starts talking about football. In fact, I tune him out most of the time!” Aurora said, to riotous laughter.

“It was only made to look that way,” Phryne said.

“Did you really see the body?” Bunny asked, her eyes wide.

“I did. I was there when it was discovered, or pretended to be discovered.”

“The whole thing is like something out of a mystery story! It’s so exciting,” the girl gushed, oblivious to the fact that two men had been brutally murdered. “I can’t tell you what I wouldn’t give for a little adventure in my life!”

“Maybe not this kind of adventure, Bunny,” Phryne said, kindly. “I have to say this was one of the sadder cases I’ve been involved in.”

“We’re you scared, Phryne? Facing a murderer all on your own?”

“Not really. I don’t think Mr. Gibbs was interested in hurting anyone else. He had his reasons for killing those men. And, besides, I wasn’t alone,” she said.

“No, Bunny,” Aurora smirked, “she had her Detective Inspector with her. You know, Phryne, from what I hear you find yourself in that man’s company quite often. What’s the real story there?”

Several of the women leaned forward eagerly. They could not have cared less about her work as a detective but a whiff of something salacious and suddenly they were all ears.

“Inspector Robinson is a colleague and a friend. Nothing more,” she sniffed, adopting an indignant expression even as her mind went back to a recent moment with Jack. A decidedly more than friendly moment. In the stands at a football game.

“A colleague and friend?” Aurora said, “do you expect us to believe he has no other reason for letting you play at this detecting business?”

“I am not ‘playing’ at anything,” Phryne said, piqued by both the slight to her and the implied dig at Jack’s integrity, “and I can assure you Inspector Robinson would never do anything to compromise an investigation. He’s a damn fine police officer.”

“Oh, I’ve seen the man. He’s damn fine all right. The perfect plaything for you, Phryne,” Aurora said, to further titters of laughter. “And I hear he’s divorced as well.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything. And you couldn’t be more wrong about my relationship with him,” Phryne barked, thinking that this town was far too full of small minded people.

Her little outburst was met with some looks of surprise. It was out of character for her. Normally this type of bawdy commentary on her lifestyle wouldn’t get a rise from her. She was a little angry with herself for allowing it to this time but, while she didn’t care what they thought of her, she took exception to this portrayal of Jack and of their friendship.

Fortunately, she was saved from any further scrutiny by the arrival of dessert. Conversation shifted away from her to speculation on how Prudence Stanley always managed to secure the most talented cooks in town.

Phryne let the inane chatter swirl around her. The way she’d bristled at the slight to Jack‘s character and so quickly jumped to his defense had surprised her.

But, perhaps it shouldn’t have, she reasoned. Her friendship with Jack had become a precious thing. Of course she’d want to protect it, and him, from such cheap innuendo. Though she suspected he would tell her that Aurora Balfray was not worth the effort. He’d be right. As he often was.

She savored a spoonful of flummery, allowing her mind to drift back to that more pleasant memory. That moment at the footy match.

 

 

> _“Even a Collingwood girl would have to stay for a game like that. So what do you think? To humour an Abbotsford man?”_

Collingwood girl, he'd said. He’d probably had no idea how happy that description made her. Too many people saw her only as the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher. Baron’s daughter, member of the nobility. That wasn’t who she was. It had never been and never would be who she was. Jack saw that. And he'd said as much.

It was also the second time in recent weeks that he’d rather pointedly referred to himself as a man in her presence. The first time being an evening in her bedroom during the investigation in Queenscliff. Each time he’d done it, it felt as though he were trying to purposefully draw a distinction. To point out that, while they were friends and partners, they were also simply a man and a woman. Not that she needed the reminding.

She’d rarely felt that distinction as clearly as that moment in the stands, just as the match was beginning, when he’d removed the Abbotsford scarf from his around his own neck to drape over hers. The scarf had been warm from the heat of his body and smelled of his aftershave. His hands gripped the two loose ends of wool tightly and he’d pulled her toward him—just a fraction of an inch. The rest of the world fell away and for that moment there was only the two of them. Not a police officer and an heiress, not even Jack and Phryne, but an Abbotsford man and a Collingwood girl.

A man and a woman.

As he’d pulled her near, and she'd looked into his eyes, she hadn’t seen longing or lust. She’d seen admiration, affection and even, perhaps, a little gratitude. Gratitude for what, she didn’t know but the overall sensation very nearly overwhelmed her. 

Jack didn’t see a spoiled debutante or wealthy toff. He didn’t see her affluence and the false status it bought. He saw her clever mind, her bravery, her wit and her worth. He saw her.

_And she liked the way she looked, in his eyes._

“Phryne! Are you still with us?”

Phryne looked up, startled to realize she was still at the interminable luncheon.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” she asked, feeling disoriented.

“Are you well?” Bunny’s voice was full of concern. “You suddenly look quite flushed.”

“Do I?” Phryne said, her hand fluttering to her throat. “Yes, I think I am warm, but it’s nothing. I probably just need a bit of fresh air.”

Bunny bent close to her ear and whispered. “These horrible things do go on, don’t they?”

Phryne smiled. She’d known there was a reason she liked this girl. She leaned in conspiratorially, “Don’t let my Aunt hear you say that!”

“I hold your aunt in the highest regard but I'm so tired of these society obligations! And all I can see is years more of them ahead of me! How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Break away from all of this!” Bunny said, making a sweeping gesture with her arm that generally encompassed the entire dining room.

“I don’t know that I have, entirely. I’m here, aren’t I?” Phryne said.

“You know what I mean. You get to come and go as you please and you have a whole life outside of this that I can't even hope to imagine. Do you have any idea what my father would say if I were associating with police officers and the like? Not that I mean any disrespect to your friends.”

“No offense taken. I’m aware of prevailing attitudes among some in this set.”

“I’ve seen so little of the world outside what my parents consider our sphere.”

“Well, I highly recommend you do. There is so much more to life than what we see here. There’s a myriad of options open to women these days. Far more interesting options than chasing the state of matrimony with a man deemed suitable by society,” Phryne said.

“Try telling that to my mother,” Bunny griped.

“I should introduce you to the women of my Adventuress Club,” Phryne said.

“Adventuress Club? Now that sounds like something mother would hate!” The girl exclaimed with glee. “Can you really introduce me?”

“I’d be happy too! We’re sponsoring a driver in the upcoming road rally race. I’ll send you a ticket to come as my guest.”

Phryne made a mental note to do whatever she could to assure a win for Gertrude Haynes, the driver for the Adventuress’ Club in the road rally. A win for the women would go far toward encouraging other young women, like Bunny. Bright women, held down by the stifling restrictions society wanted to place on them.

It would also serve to show all the men just what women were truly capable of. All the men that weren’t Jack Robinson, that is.


	9. Disappointing Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Estranged from Jack, Phryne seeks a distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like a lot of this series, this chapter was originally a stand alone story that I didn't know what to do with. It was an experiment in writing something more overtly sexual and I questioned whether I wanted to publish it. 
> 
> I wrote most of it after watching Underbelly: Squizzy and an episode in that show with a very over the top, debauched kind of party that I could picture Phryne attending. I decided to adapt the story to fit in after Blood at the Wheel for this series.
> 
> It contains what some might consider crude imagery and anonymous sex for which I've added tag warnings to the title page.

* * *

 

“A package arrived for you, Miss,” Dot said, knocking on the door frame before entering the bedroom.

“Excellent! I was afraid it might not arrive in time!” Phryne turned from the mirror where she’d been carefully applying her makeup. Her eyes were drawn with heavier kohl than usual giving them a dramatic, smoky appearance and her lids were painted a deep purple that brought out the blue of her irises.

“Is it for tonight?”

“Yes.” Phryne opened the package and drew out something small and made of black lace with satin ribbons hanging off either end. She held it up, over her eyes, surveying the affect in the mirror. The mask covered a third of her face, skimming over her cheekbones, around her eyes, and then disappearing beneath her fringe of bangs.

“Oh! Is it a fancy dress party?” Dot asked.

“I suppose you could call it that,” Phryne said, vaguely, tying the mask behind her head. Dot came forward and helped to fasten it into her hair, expertly hiding the pins.

“What costume are you wearing? Will you need help with dressing?” She asked, excitedly.

“It’s not really that type of fancy dress, more a masked ball,” Phryne said, “and I know you have plans with Hugh, I’ll manage on my own tonight, Dot.”

“If you’re sure, Miss.”

“I am, Dot. You go on and enjoy your evening.” Phryne didn’t think Dot would approve of what she planned to wear tonight or where she was heading.

“All right. If you don’t need anything else, I’ll be on my way,” Dot said, before puttering around the room for several more minutes, picking up discarded items of clothing and surveying them to determine if they needed cleaning or if they could be returned to the wardrobe. Finally she gathered some soiled items up in her arms.

“You’ve been out nearly every night this week. I hope you’re not wearing yourself out,” Dot remarked, pausing in the doorway to look back at Phryne. Phryne felt some judgement in the statement. Or, maybe it was concern.

“I’m fine, Dot,” she said, blotting her lips on a tissue to set her lipstick.

“Well, goodnight, then,” Dot said, “I hope you have a nice time!”

“Thank you, Dot. I’m sure I will.”

Phryne sat back surveying her masked face in the mirror critically.

It was true that she’d been out several nights this past week but she didn’t see why that should be of concern to Dot. She supposed her staff had gotten used to a different routine of quiet nights in but it wasn’t as though this behavior was entirely out of character for her. She’d always needed the odd night out, to let herself go, and blow off steam.

After staying home alone for a few nights, waiting to see if Jack was going to change his mind and come back, she had grown impatient and unsettled and more than a little ashamed of herself for moping about.

There was nothing she could do to change his mind. His feelings were his own to deal with and eventually something—a murder or some other crime—would bring them together again. How would it look for him to discover she’d been sitting around, doing nothing but waiting for the opportunity?

And what, exactly, was she waiting for? She had plenty of exciting places to go. Plenty of old friends, and the promise of new ones, to keep her happy.

Like tonight, for instance. Tonight looked to be very promising indeed.

The party was by secret invitation only. Very exclusive and very risqué. It was at the home of a French expatriate who was well known for his lavish and lascivious lifestyle. The man had travelled the world collecting beautiful young women the way others collected art. At any given time up to twelve girls were said to be living with him in his mansion outside of town. His own personal harem.

Phryne wondered how many of the stories were true and how many were rumor, born of the mystery surrounding the man and his legendary parties.

Francois demanded that his guests follow the strictest rules of discretion. What happened inside his walls was never to be spoken of outside of them. If you were found to have revealed even the smallest of details you were never invited back.

Phryne had attended one of his parties shortly after her arrival in Melbourne. The champagne and all manner of illicit substances had flowed freely. Any and all inhibitions were left behind when you stepped through the doors.

It was deliciously hedonistic and Phryne’s body positively hummed with anticipation as she pulled her dress for the night from the back of her wardrobe. It was black Chantilly lace, like the mask, and more revealing than most of her lingerie, which she was forgoing entirely this evening. She slipped it on and did up the ingenious little buttons that ran from her waist to her just below her arm.

She surveyed herself in the mirror. The dress draped over her curves, the deep V of the neckline dipping well below her breast bone. It was cleverly constructed to cover certain strategic areas of her body. The skirt was loose and flowing, but the open weave meant that the majority of her skin was visible beneath the yards of wispy black lace.

When she moved, the pattern shifted, revealing a flash of skin. Like a little strip tease, flesh exposed and then obscured again. As revealing as the dress was, she knew she’d be far more demurely attired than many of the women there, and quite a few of the men, but Phryne found that in instances such as this, leaving something to the imagination increased the intrigue.

She wrapped herself in her blue velvet Paul Poiret cocoon coat with the white fox fur trim, successfully hiding the shocking gown underneath, and set out.

The party was well on its way when she arrived. She found a glass of champagne and an advantageous spot to observe before diving in.

It was all the rage these days for the servers at these types of parties, both male and female, to be nearly naked and this gathering was definitely on trend.

The men and women serving tonight were painted from their toes to the tips of their heads, eyelashes included, in chalky white. Other than the white paint they wore nothing but a tiny gold lamé wrap around their hips that did very little to cover their nether regions.

The male servers, all highly muscular, had one addition. Ridiculously, they carried golden bows and had a sling of arrows on their backs like so many burly cupids.

It was understood that the hired help was off limits. One might appreciate the view but any ogling was forbidden and even the lightest touch was enough to get a guest thrown out.

In the center of the ballroom was what Phryne assumed was meant to be the pièce de résistance. A woman, sitting just above eye level on a swing. She was more thoroughly dressed than any other woman in the room, wearing a voluminous pink dress and petticoat. An obvious rendition of a painting by one of her host’s countrymen, Jean-Honoré Fragonard. The young woman was swinging with abandon and Phryne stepped forward to confirm that, properly positioned like the man in the original painting, one could see directly up the flowing skirt as the swing moved forward.

Phryne wasn’t taken in by the scene. It was all a bit absurd, and a little comical. For a minute, she wished she had a friend along to laugh with, but the two people she thought might find this most amusing, Mac and Jack, would never be caught dead here!

Imagining what the dry, acerbic Mac might be whispering in her ear, or the incredulous look on steadfast and serious Jack’s face, was enough to make her giggle.

This line of thinking wasn’t doing much to get her into the spirit of things. She sipped her champagne, trying to concentrate on the scene before her.

The atmosphere was highly charged. People moved on the dance floor, more writhing together than performing any actual steps. Couples, or even groups of people, would peel off from the crowd and slip into one of the many side rooms to relieve their carnal urges. It was what this party was all about, after all. A chance to step outside of your life and leave all sense of propriety behind for one night. She hoped the mood would eventually strike her. She’d been actively seeking it for days to no avail.

The Green Mill, usually a reliable venue for providing a partner for such encounters, had utterly failed her. As had a new speakeasy she’d been hearing great things about. She wasn’t feeling at all her usual self and those outings had been disappointing, to say the least. She was determined that tonight would turn things around.

She shot down the rest of her champagne and went in search of another glass and perhaps a little something more that might loosen her inhibitions further.

A few hours later, several glasses of champagne and a delightful little pill had Phryne’s head feeling heavy and her brain pleasantly fuzzy. She laughed and danced and drank some more. She’d yet to round out her evening but was happy to report that she had definitely found the proper attitude. And she’d narrowed her prospects down to one.

He was by far the most attractive man at the party. Even with the black satin eye mask, the fine bone structure of his face was clearly visible. The shock of blond hair was thick and ripe for running one’s fingers through. His lips were a bit thin, but enticing. There was something animalistic about him and Phryne was pleased to note that he’d been watching her as closely as she’d been watching him. Neither had yet made a move to connect and Phryne wanted to know a bit more before making the attempt. Looks could be deceiving and she didn’t want to waste her time.

She spied an acquaintance across the room. A well connected woman who would no doubt have the information she sought.

The masks the guests wore did not do much to hide one’s identity. They weren’t really meant to. They were just another nod to the expected anonymity of the evening. Guests might be completely aware of who they were talking, or otherwise interacting, with, might even be old friends, but acknowledging that recognition was frowned upon. Names were rarely uttered. Still, they weren’t expected to pretend to be complete strangers, that would be ridiculous.

Phryne placed her empty champagne glass on a passing tray, letting her eyes move over the lithe young thing carrying it, and plucked up a freshly poured glass with an appreciative nod.

She sipped at the bubbly liquid, moving slowly through the crowd, feeling her mystery man’s eyes on her all the way.

“Quite a nice turn out,” she said, sidling up to the her friend’s side.

Lily waved away the man she’d been chatting with. The dismissed gentleman looked slightly put out but left without complaint.

“Yes. It always is,” Lily said, “Francois knows all the best people, and certainly the most beautiful ones.” She slid her eyes up and down Phryne. From head to toe and back again.

“Thank you. May I say that you’re looking ravishing tonight as well?”

“You may!” Lily said, her eyes smiling behind the peacock satin mask she wore.

Phryne made a point of studying the sheer, silk chiffon gown. It’s bias cut created a perfect drape, though it strained slightly as it skimmed over Lily’s full breasts. The fabric was completely transparent, revealing the hardened peaks of her nipples and the deep blush of the surrounding areola.

“That’s a Vionnet, isn’t it?” Phryne said, conversationally, “Though, if I’m not mistaken, Madame originally designed it with a satin underlay.” Her red lips turned up into a small smirk.

“Unfortunately the underlay developed a small tear,” Lily said, pouting prettily. “I’m having it repaired but it seemed a shame to leave the dress languishing in the wardrobe.”

“Oh, I agree. A thing of such beauty really must be seen!”

Lily laughed. “Why don’t I see you at these things more often? Where have you been hiding yourself?”

“Here and there,” Phryne said, “you know how it is.”

“Mmmm,” Lily agreed, vaguely.

“I’m wondering about one of the gentleman in the room. I don’t think I’ve seen him before. I’m hoping you can enlighten me.”

“Would that be the gentleman everyone woman in the place, and quite a few of the men, have their eye on?”

“Perhaps.”

“You always did have excellent taste, darling.”

“Then you know him? Have you...partaken?”

“I do and I have. And I can attest that he is a delight. His assets are substantial and his skills are, shall we say, well-honed.”

“Sounds promising.”

“Very. If you don’t mind the ego. He is aware of his abilities and quite smug about it.”

“As long as he has reason to be,” Phryne said.

“Oh, he lives up to the promise. I was thinking of revisiting the encounter myself but if you’d rather, I can find satisfaction elsewhere,” Lily said, generously.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil your evening,” Phryne said.

“Not another word,” she insisted, with less animosity than Phryne had witnessed in a challenge for the last petit four on the dessert tray.

“Well, if you’re sure. Thank you for the information.”

“You’re very welcome. Lovely to see you again. We must have lunch one day,” Lily said.

“We must,” Phryne agreed, knowing it would never be scheduled

Lily raised her glass in farewell. “Enjoy yourself tonight!”

Phryne crossed to the mystery man, coming to a stop directly in front of where he was stretched languidly on the couch. He looked up, locking eyes with her, suddenly oblivious to the woman at his side, stroking his chest and whispering into his ear. He untangled himself from her, stood, and raked his eyes over Phryne.

An unwelcome memory encroached. Of a similar gaze, but from steely blue eyes instead of these warm brown ones. Before the memory could take hold and distract her, she cocked her head toward one of the private alcoves and turned in that direction. The angry exclamation from the woman she’d usurped confirmed that he followed.

She drew the curtains closed behind him and immediately began working to divest him of his clothing.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” He said, “not that I’m complaining. I’ve been waiting all night for you to come to me.”

His voice as flat and grating. Nowhere near as pretty as his features and displeasing to her ear.

“There’s no need to speak,” she said, pushing the shirt off his shoulders and running her hands over the smooth muscles of his chest. “I’m not here for your conversation.”

“I knew I was going to like you,” he grinned.

“What did I just say about speaking?” He was coming very close to spoiling the mood. She touched her finger to his lips, tracing them lightly. “I’ve been told very promising things about you, but if you don’t find something else to do with your mouth in a hurry, I’ll find someone else who will.”

With a cocked eyebrow, he bent to his task. Starting at her neck and moving down along her décolletage. She arched her head back and sighed with pleasure as he pushed the lace bodice aside to draw her nipple into his mouth, grazing it slightly with his teeth.

She moved her hands blindly down his body to the buttons of his trousers. He broke away from her to let her push them down over his hips. He still wore his shoes and the trousers pooled at his ankles, looking a little ridiculous, but Lily hadn’t lied about his assets and Phryne greedily curled her fingers around his girth, stroking firmly as he hardened quickly within her grip. He smiled at her obvious admiration and Phryne saw a hint of the smugness Lily had mentioned but she’d never taken issue with a little arrogance where justified.

He palmed her breast, squeezing and then pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. A jolt of pain shoot through her, lighting her on fire.

He bent to kiss her lips but she turned from him, rushing to ruck the hem of her skirt up over her hips. She bent over the back of the velvet settee revealing herself to him.

She didn’t want to see his face. She didn’t want to kiss his lips or feel his body pressed to hers. She wanted a fast and frenzied coupling, base and impersonal.

“You are a minx, aren’t you,” he mumbled, his voice heavy with desire, his hands sliding over her hips and cupping the globes of her ass.

“Please,” she said, the word choking off and turning into a gasp as he slid a finger into her.

“Easy darling. I’m in charge now and I won’t be rushed,” he said, “let me work. You won’t be disappointed.”

He pushed the dress further up to expose more of her. She felt his hands slide down her thighs as he fell to his knees. He gently encouraged her legs apart, positioned himself beneath her and set his lips upon her. Before long he had her moaning. Her legs quivered and she turned to liquid, her upper body poured over the back of the couch like a rag doll.

Through a fog of intense pleasure she felt her body climb and tense before being racked by a powerful orgasm. One that had been building inside her for a long time. When she recovered, she was naked, but for the mask, and sprawled on her back on the settee with no memory of having got in that position. The man was naked too and standing over her, one knee straddling her hips.

He ran one hand over her body, up her chest to her throat, his grip firm and slightly choking.

“I’m going to take you now, my queen, and it’s going to be so good. For both of us. Are you ready?”

She nodded, more than ready and hoping he would stop talking and just get on with it. She tried to concentrate on this moment, this man, but she couldn’t. She knew nothing about him. There was nothing to connect them.

The mask he wore didn’t hide his unbridled lust, but there was nothing else behind his eyes. No familiarity. No bond. She could have been anyone. Which, she supposed, was the point. It was what she wanted. It was the reason she’d come here in the first place, and her body was screaming with need.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight and sighed with relief as he filled her. Then suddenly, in her mind’s eye, there was another man. A man that looked at her and saw, not a queen, not something made for his pleasure, but a real, flesh and blood woman. A woman with a mind and a soul. A woman he adored.

She found herself encouraging the image. As her mystery man moved inside her, it was someone else she longed for, someone else’s hands she felt on her body.

Behind her closed lids she saw blue eyes, deep and dark as the sea. A steely jaw and full lips with a deep cupid’s bow that were impossible to look away from. Her hands gripped at shoulders that were not quite broad enough. As she arched up off the couch it was someone else she was drawing deeper inside her. It was someone else she screamed for as another wave of pleasure ripped through her.

Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. The slight chill in the room was welcome on her sweat slicked skin. She felt tears slip from her eyes, dampening the silk of her mask.

The man was collapsed on top of her, his head buried against her neck. She felt him stir and bite the tendon between her neck and shoulder.

“Amazing,” he said, “you were definitely worth the wait.”

“And you were as delightful as I’d been told,” she said, as cheerfully as she could.

She gave his ass a pat and shifted to move out from under him, reaching to collect her dress from the floor.

“What’s the hurry, love? There’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Perhaps another time.”

He rolled on to his side to face her, his impressive assets on full display and for a moment she second guessed her decision. But just for a moment. Her heart wasn’t in it anymore.

She wanted to be out of the stifling alcove, perhaps find some more champagne until her mind stopped functioning all together. She didn’t want to think too hard about what she’d just done. She couldn’t ever remember using one man as a replacement for another like that. It alarmed her.

She knew this man probably wouldn’t mind, and the sex was meant to be anonymous, but she usually managed to find more of a connection with her lovers, however brief.

He sat up, reaching for his discarded dinner jacket and removing a pack of imported French cigarettes from the pocket. With his long fingers he nimbly extracted a cigarette, lit it and took a deep drag before holding it out to her. She took it and set it between her lips.

She rarely indulged in the habit anymore but the brand had once been a favorite. Drawing deeply, she closed her eyes as the fragrant smoke filled her lungs. She turned to look at him through the haze.

He really was beautiful. And just as accomplished as Lily had promised. Why, then, did she feel so empty? She should be feeling pleased and satisfied. Instead her heart was racing and she felt like frightened rabbit. Glued to the spot but ready to flee. She took another drag to settle her nerves and returned the cigarette to him.

“Well,” she sighed, “it’s been a pleasure.”

“Are you sure you want to leave?” He queried, “we’ve only just got started.”

He moved to sit at the edge of the settee, grabbed her hips and guided her between his thighs. He pressed his face between her breasts.

“Did I call you a queen?” He said, pressing kisses to her exposed skin and sliding his hands over her body, “You are more than that, you are transcendent. You are a goddess. You are Salome.”

“Don’t expect me to dance for you,” she said.

He laughed and in that moment she saw him. The man, not just the body, and a small spark passed between them but it only made her feel sadder. She reached out to ruffle his hair.

“Stay,” he said.

“I can’t,” she said. She tilted his head up and bent to kiss his lips for the first time but there was no heat in it. She smoothed her dress over her hips. “I did enjoy myself,” she said, “I hope there are no hard feelings.”

“None at all,” he said, “Perhaps we will meet again sometime?”

“Perhaps,” she said, turning to go. She was tired and just wanted to be home.

Once there she attempted a few hours of quality sleep but it eluded her. She lay awake trying to understand what had happened earlier.

This was not who she was. That was not the type of encounter she normally sought. She enjoyed sex. Not just the physical aspect but the connection with another person. She liked it in all of its forms, sensual, ferocious, or fun, sometimes all three at once, but always she’d sought the connection. The current between two bodies and minds.

Tonight she’d actively fought to suppress any connection. She’d barely spoken to the man and in the end she thought he might’ve been someone she’d like to know better. He’d been generous, open minded and nonjudgmental. He even seemed to have a sense of humor and she’d treated him like an object. A thing. A substitute for someone else.

Which was odd as well, because, that was not who they were. She and Jack.

She wasn’t going to pretend she’d never flirted with him, and at times even desired him, but they were not, nor had they ever been, lovers.

So why had her mind gone there tonight? Why, when she’d been seeking release and abandon had he crept in and taken hold?

The answer had to be this sudden estrangement. It had her out of sorts. Just yesterday she’d come across a newspaper report that mentioned his name in connection with a high profile arrest and had picked up the phone to congratulate him before remembering they weren’t friends anymore.

Maybe it was just that simple. She was missing him.

And she knew she’d handled the whole thing badly. Her knee-jerk reaction when he declared his strong feelings for her had been insensitive. This wasn’t some overly amorous suitor that wanted to possess her. This was her friend.

This was Jack.

It wasn’t until she’d realized he was pulling away that it had hit her—what they were coming to be to each other—what it would mean to lose him.

She’d asked him to think about it. He’d promised he would but it wasn’t looking promising on that front. She’d heard not a word from him since that night and the date of a previously discussed outing had passed unacknowledged. She kept thinking he’d come to his senses. Kept expecting him to send for her but the invitation never arrived.

And it was more painful than she could ever have imagined. No amount of frivolity, debauchery, or nights on the town was going to alleviate it. He wasn’t coming back and the only thing to be done was get on with it. Let the hurt pass with time. Let the memories fade until they could be looked back on fondly.

She sniffled and angrily wiped a tear from her cheek. What she needed was a case. Something useful and challenging to occupy her mind.

As luck would have it, her wish was granted sooner than expected when a call came from Mac the very next morning requesting her help.


	10. With or Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack tries to deal with frustrating and conflicting emotions.

_He really was a stupid man,_ he decided. What had made him think he could steer clear of her? That hadn’t been possible since the day she set foot into town. And to have expected a little consideration from her? That was only further proof of his folly.

Jack stabbed the shovel deep into the earth. Turning the dirt out at a furious pace.

Had over a year of finding her at his crime scenes taught him nothing? How many times had they met that way—over one dead body or another? And, since this call for help had come from her good friend, Dr. MacMillan it was almost inevitable that he’d walk into the room and find her standing over the deceased. He should have been better prepared. 

He’d tried to adjust. Tried his best to be professional. There was no doubt she was an asset. She was clever and quick. He found a perverse pleasure in watching her run circles around those arrogant academics but she had a tendency to overstep her bounds, and where her presence had once been entertaining, even welcome, it was now—well, now it hurt. It physically hurt to be around her. Or away from her. Sometimes it was hard to tell which.

He needed to remind himself why ending everything was the best path forward. The only path forward.

He ran through a list of her past indiscretions, starting with the withholding of information and the white lies. Then there was the pilfering of evidence, various incidents of breaking and entering and the seduction of suspects. (That last one was particularly grating for reasons he’d rather not consider too thoroughly.) There was also the continuing manipulations of his constable and the kidnapping of witnesses. Those latest occurring again just today!

He could probably have gone on overlooking these indiscretions if not for the other thing. The real point of contention that had only recently come to light.

It was the discovery that she didn’t see him as an equal partner. She never had. It was all about her and her needs, her wants and whims.

 _“We enjoy uncovering the truth together,”_ she’d said, but for her ‘together’ was a relative term. Useful when it worked to her advantage, but easily cast aside. It was all a game and he was just a pawn in it. A means to an end that she would willingly exploit whenever convenient.

They hadn’t uncovered the truth together in that previous case. They hadn’t been working as a team.

It was partly his fault. He’d been off kilter for days and he knew she'd seen it. Maybe she’d used that to justify her behavior but, whatever she’d told herself, it didn’t clear her in his eyes. She’d lied to him and, worse than that, she hadn’t trusted him. She’d chosen to deceive and delay him in order to have things her way.

He shouldn’t have been so surprised. The betrayal was completely consistent of her, but somewhere along the way he’d let himself believe he was exempt from her manipulations. As stupid as it sounded now, he'd thought he was special to her.

She’d come to mean more to him than just about anything else in this world. That was another recent realization and perhaps the most painful part of all of this.

He knew she cared for him in her own way, and he knew that he’d hurt her by walking away, but she wasn’t going to change and he didn’t really want her to, which left very little room for maneuvering.

Jack rested for a moment, leaning on his shovel.

It was all terribly conflicting. All this hurt, and anger, admiration and love. How was he supposed to keep his mind focused on the job with her occupying so much mental real estate? Not to mention physical space. It was perfectly clear she had no intention of going quietly.

His frustration flared and he returned to his task, tossing dirt from the hole with increased fervor.

“I think that’s large enough, Jack. Don’t you?”

He paused, looking down at the gaping hole and then to the rather spindly tree for which it was being dug.

“Yes. Yes I guess it is. Just wanted to make sure there’s plenty of room for the roots to spread.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow, in part to cover the blush of embarrassment.

“I think there’s room—and then some!” Catherine Everett laughed. “I do appreciate your help with this. I really couldn't ask for a nicer neighbor!”

“You don't need to flatter me, Catherine," he smiled. "It’s no trouble at all. I’m glad to do it. And, honestly, I needed a little physical actively to unwind from this day.”

“Tough case?”

“Challenging.”

“Why don’t you take a break and join me on the patio? It’s terribly warm. I’ll get you a cool drink.”

“Thank you. I’ll just finish up here first. It won’t take more than a few more minutes.”

Jack returned some of the dirt to the hole, until it was the correct size for the root ball, then carefully set the tree in the center, turning it so its best side would be facing Catherine’s kitchen window. He gently backfilled the hole, staked the trunk for stability, and gave it a good watering.

He stripped off the leather gloves and washed his hands with the hose, drying them on his trousers before joining Catherine. The ice cold glass of lemonade felt good in his hand and he gratefully settled in the chair opposite her.

He sat back, stretching his legs out before him and crossing them at the ankle. The light breeze was welcome after his exertions.

“That’s better,” Catherine said. “You look much more relaxed. You work too hard, Jack.”

“Crime never rests,” he said, making light of her concern and mocking himself a little at the same time.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t,” she scolded. “You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“Are you calling me dull, Catherine?” He said, feigning offense. She rolled her eyes at him.

“Why don’t you take that young lady of yours out again? I’ve said you can use the bicycle anytime!”

“Yes,” He cleared his throat, sitting up, “and that’s very kind of you, but I don’t think I’ll be needing it again.”

“Oh? Is there something wrong with it? Or, did she not enjoy herself?”

“It’s not that. It’s—you see— we—” Jack opened his mouth, taking in a deep breath only to exhale it again, completely at a loss for what to say.

“Have you had a falling out?”

“I wouldn’t call it a ‘falling out,’ more—it’s just a little complicated right now.”

He looked down at this feet and an awkward silence fell between them.

“I’m sorry, Jack. It’s none of my business. Forgive an old busybody?”

“You’re hardly old, Catherine,” Jack said.

“But I am a busybody.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“No. It’s true. I take too great an interest in your personal life. I just think it’s a shame for you to be alone all the time. I guess I got my hopes up for you.”

“I hate to be such a disappointment to you,” he said with a smile, “and I’m perfectly happy. She really was just a friend.”

“Was?”

“Is—was—I don’t know. She’s a private detective. We often work together. It’s how we became acquainted.” There. He sighed with relief. Work seemed safer ground than play.

“A lady detective! How interesting. And she works with the police?”

“On occasion our cases will overlap. She’s proven quite helpful at times.”

“She must be clever then.”

“Very.”

“Is she pretty?”

“That’s not really a requirement of the job,” Jack laughed, “but yes. She’s very pretty. She’s beautiful,” he said, hating the way his voice had become so wistful.

“Clever and beautiful. That’s a nice combination.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But she’s also stubborn and impulsive. Unpredictable and challenging and, at times, thoughtless. Without doubt, the most exasperating woman I’ve ever encountered,” he said, unable to stop himself from talking. It just seemed to spill out of him.

“I see,” Catherine said, as though a switched had flipped. He looked up at her and frowned.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he complained.

“Like what?”

“Like you think you know a secret.”

“I don’t think it’s a secret. I’m pretty sure you know it too. Have you told her?”

“In a manner of speaking.” There wasn't much point denying it. He'd been found out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She laughed. “It doesn’t sound very romantic!”

“We’re not like that and she’s not the roses and candles type anyway.”

“Well, what type is she?”

“She’s complicated. She’s messy.”

“Life’s complicated and messy and at times painful, Jack, but closing the door to possible happiness isn’t going to make it any less so.”

“It’s really not that simple, Catherine.”

“It never is." She shrugged. "If you think she’s not worth the trouble, then I’m sure you know best.”

“I do. Believe me, it’s easier this way."

“If you say so. However, in my experience easy is boring. And Jack, if it’s another loss you’re afraid of, well, you know as well as I that it’s only painful if what you have to lose is valuable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been falling behind in responding to comments but I read all of them and I'm so grateful to everyone that has taken time to leave one! They really make my day! I hope to catch up with responding soon.


	11. A Thunderstorm in Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sometimes indignation is as good as a thunderstorm in summer, clearing and cooling the air.” —Henry Ward Beecher

* * *

 

 

“So what kind of partners are we from hereon in, Jack? What’s our safe distance? Two steps behind, two steps in front? Perhaps a dosido?”

“I think we’re more of a waltz, Miss Fisher.”

“Not a tango? A good waltz is slow, and close.”

“I’ll try to stay in step, all the same.”

 _It’s a start,_ she thought. She raised her glass to toast, studying him closely. He had accepted her invitation at the close of the case. He was here and responding to her teasing banter but there was no spark in his eyes, no humour in his expression. This reunion felt tentative. More like a truce than a true reconciliation.

As much as she’d like to pretend otherwise, the elephant in the room wouldn’t be ignored.

“Jack, I think we need to talk about how this all came about. This—estrangement.”

“I don’t think it’s necessary to revisit the past,” he objected.

Clearly she’d picked at a scab. Good. This needed airing or it would continue to fester into an unmanageable infection.

“I was insensitive,” she said.

He shook his head. “You were honest.”

“I could have been kinder. More understanding of your feelings,” she said. It was evasive, hiding from him just how complicated her own feelings had been, were still.

“You are who you are,” he shrugged. It was biting and resentful.

It felt like a slap in the face and when he saw the way she recoiled he looked, for a moment, like he might want to take it back.

“Look,” he sighed, “We’re obviously going to have to work together on occasion and, as I’ve said, I’ll do my best to manage. Let’s just leave it there.”

“You’ll manage? Manage what? Me?” She said, bitterly.

“We both know that’s not possible,” he scoffed.

“You know, Jack, I realize you got your feelings hurt but this surly attitude of yours is getting tiresome.”

“Am I boring you? My apologies. Thank you for the drink.” He set the glass down and headed for the door.

“Good God you are a frustrating man!” She cried. “This self-pity is ridiculous. All because I didn’t go quietly and you didn’t get your way this time!”

“This time?” He turned on her. “When do I ever get my way? This isn’t about hurt feelings. It’s about the way you never listen to me. Never take me into consideration before acting. You have no respect for my position!”

“Oh, I listen to you plenty." His voice was in her head more than her own lately. "Don’t pretend this is about that old ‘man of the law’ chestnut. You whinge and moan when I step over the line but you don’t really mind, and you know it,” she said, dismissively.

“You’re right,” he said, conceding her point. “It’s my own fault. I’ve let these ‘minor points of contention,’ as you called them, go unchecked for too long.”

“Well, if you think this is where you get to put your foot down, you’re wrong. I’m not going to let you use this as an excuse! I won’t apologize for my behavior and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don't I know it.” He sounded so pathetically put-upon she wanted to scream. She fought back the very real urge to throw something at his head.

“Must I be the only adult in the room? I’m not giving up on this, Jack! What we do. What we are together. Some things are too valuable to let slip through your fingers.”

His mouth opened and closed again, his eyes shut tight in a long, slow blink. He let out a short, incredulous laugh and seemed to deflate, expelling his anger along with his breath, replacing it with a sort of resignation.

“What’s so funny?” She said warily, confused by his sudden shift in mood.

“It seems that the universe is trying to tell me something.”

“Such as?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” he said.

“Care to enlighten me?”

He inclined his head, as if considering her question. She waited, apprehensively, feeling as though they’d come to some crucial crossroad.

“Do you respect me, Phryne? Not the job—me.”

It wasn’t a question she'd expected.

“You know I do,” she answered.

“I thought I did, but sometimes your actions don’t convey that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought we were past keeping things from each other. I thought we were a team.”

“We are.”

“Then why did you do it? The stocking in the tail pipe?”

“That again? It was nothing! A small delay.”

“I know what it was, I want to know why. Why did you feel the need to delay me? Why the lie?”

That delay—the lie—as he’d rather dramatically called it, had been a split second decision. She’d thought twice about at the time, had almost not followed through, but by then she’d gone too far to turn back. Once done she’d barely given it another thought. Clearly it had not been the same for him and still weighed heavily. It gave her pause.

“I was thinking of Ailsa and Millie,” she said, trying to maintain a semblance of self-righteousness she wasn’t truly feeling. “Ailsa deserved a chance to say goodbye to her daughter.”

He nodded but it appeared her answer had let him down. _No, not let down. Hurt. He looked hurt._

“And you thought, what? That I would slap the cuffs on her and throw away the key? Am I a cruel man, Miss Fisher?”

She felt suddenly smaller. She sank down into a chair and wrapped her arms protectively around her body.

“Please, don’t call me that. Not now,” she said, crumbling. “It feels like punishment.”

“I’m not trying to punish you.”

“Then what is the point of this?”

“You’re the one that brought up my feelings. I know this wasn’t the first time you’ve gone around me but it was the first time it felt personal,” he said.

“I hurt you,” she said, blinking back tears.

“You didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not true. It wasn’t about not trusting you, though I can see why it might look that way. You were just so—you were—”

“What? What was I?”

“You were distant. I felt a distance and I didn’t know what it meant. I fell back on old habits.”

“I suppose that makes a certain sense,” he said.

“I’m not blaming you,” she said, “this was my mistake, but in my defense, I’m still getting used to being able to rely on someone else and it suddenly felt as though the rug had been pulled out from under me.”

“You felt you couldn’t rely on me?”

She could almost see him retreat. Another perceived failure falling on his shoulders. This wasn’t going at all well but she didn’t want to lie to him or gloss over their difficulties. That’s what had gotten them here in the first place.

“I was confused and in that moment I thought—well, I wasn’t thinking and I let you—I let us both down. I should have trusted you. I do rely on you, Jack. And I want you to be able to rely on me. I always meant for you to.”

“I know that,” he said, “and I can see where things might have been confusing for you. It was confusing for me too.”

He sat down across from her and she reached out to him. He met her halfway and she wrapped her hand around his, feeling his rough palm under the tips of her fingers.

“And now?” She asked, quietly.

“Now it is what it is,” he shrugged, giving her hand a squeeze.

“You’ve decided not to run from it?”

“I think it's been proven that I can't. Even when I try." 

“Don’t try, Jack. I’ve been adrift without you.”

It was the closest she could come to saying she wanted him. That she needed him. Apparently it was close enough.

“Have you?” He said, an impish look crossing his face.

“Just a little,” she said, her eyes warning him not to get too smug or push her too far.

“Well, we can’t have that,” he said, slipping his hand from hers and picking up his earlier discarded glass of whisky.

“So, what are we going to do about it, Inspector?”

He sat back, crossing his legs. He looked down for a moment as he swirled the liquid in the glass. When he looked up at her again, he held her gaze, his mouth curving up ever so slightly on one side. She smiled at him in return, appreciating his mastery at orchestrating a moment. At the way he said so much with no words at all. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

“We will do what we do best, Miss Fisher.”

“I’ll drink to that, Jack.”


	12. The Meaning of the Word

Jack congratulated Raymond and Clara on their achievements and then faded into the background watching Phryne claim her rightful accolades as well. She was currently engulfed in a crush of well-wishers and reporters but seemed to be holding her own and even enjoying herself.

Sooner than he expected he found her back at his side, urging him out onto the sidewalk.

“You’re not hurrying you off on my account?” He asked, even as he breathed a sigh of relief to be away from the crowd.

“No,” she said, “it’s Raymond’s night. Let him have the glory.”

Phryne didn’t care about any adoration. Except, perhaps, from the man whose arm she was currently slipping her hand around. It was alarming how often that thought was occurring these days.

They were slowly finding their way back to each other but she feared some of the intimacy had been lost. Or maybe they were intentionally steering clear. She couldn’t be sure which but she was extremely pleased when he’d accepted her invitation to the premiere. It was their first outing outside of any kind of official investigation since—well, she'd rather not dwell on that just now.

“What did you think of the the film, Jack?” She asked, her hand comfortably resting in the crook of his elbow.

“It was very enjoyable.”

“Liar. You slept through most of it! I had to wake you when your part came on.”

“It was hardly ‘my’ part. I said a few words and it wasn’t even me on the screen.”

“But you saved that scene, Jack,” she said, blinking up at him from beneath her thick dark lashes. “You know, if I’d known you were interested in playing a role I’d have happily cast you. Perhaps next time.”

“Next time? Does that mean you’re giving up on detecting for directing, Miss Fisher?”

“There’s no reason I can’t do both, Inspector. I’m nothing if not versatile.”

“You are a woman of many talents,” he agreed.

She squeezed his arm and hugged her body a little tighter to his as they fell in step along the sidewalk.

“Were you truly bored by the film?” She asked, she was oddly disappointed to think he hadn’t liked it.

“No! I actually found more entertaining than I’d expected I would. And I wasn’t really asleep. I’d just closed my eyes for a minute. It was a long day. I’m sorry if I was poor company.”

“Never,” she said, “but I don’t understand your aversion to film, Jack. You enjoy theater—so long as it’s not an operetta.”

“Theater is happening before your eyes,” he said. “You could see the same show two nights in a row and there will be differences in the performances, whereas a film is static, unchanging. Filmed and edited and exactly the same no matter how many times you view it.”

“But that’s the beauty of it! It’s a singular performance captured for all time. And you can do things with film you can’t do on a stage, such as utilizing multiple locations and filming action scenes.”

“I will admit to finding the addition of sound welcome. I think it has the potential of making the performances more realistic. I always found the acting in silent films to be too exaggerated.”

“Clara was wonderful, wasn’t she?”

“Yes. Your instincts were on the mark, as usual. Casting her as a lead was a stroke of genius,” he said.

“I’m not sure whether that’s meant to flatter me or if it's your infatuation with Clara showing.”

“She was immensely helpful to the case, and is surely a woman of many talents, but she pales in comparison to the woman currently at my side.”

“Don’t go overboard, Jack. You risk appearing sycophantic,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You are hard to please,” he laughed.

“Possibly, but you like a challenge.”

“So I’ve learned,” he said.

She took that as a very positive turn of events. She paused in her step, looking over at him with what she hoped was an encouraging smile. His expression didn’t change but she thought she felt the jump of his pulse under her fingertips as they continued on.

“It didn’t go unnoticed,” he said, quietly, “or unappreciated.”

“What didn’t?”

“Raymond Hirsch is your friend and yet you called me in even before going to the scene yourself, despite being the first person he informed of the death.”

“The police needed to be called at some point,” she said, lightly.

“You could’ve waited until you’d had a look.”

“I could have,” she agreed, “but I had a vested interest in the film continuing and anyone on that set might have called the police at any time. Who knows what might have shown up! I wanted you on the case rather than some other, less civilized, detective.”

She made a fair point but Jack still didn’t think it explained the delay in her arrival. He’d been on the scene for several minutes before she turned up. Long enough to assess the situation and determine the death had be the result of foul play. Certainly, with her prior knowledge, and penchant for excessive speed while driving, she could have placed the call to the station and still have beaten him to the studio if she'd wanted.

It had felt like a concession to him. One that was owed an equal concession on his part. Which was why he’d immediately asked her opinion of the scene before expressing his own conclusions.

The concessions had continued. She pushed back against any accusations toward her friend in private but in public she’d backed him up. Openly displaying her trust in him and encouraging the same in Raymond.

In turn, he’d let her do her work unimpeded, trusting that she’d let him know of any relevant discoveries. They hadn’t so much worked together as in tandem, much like their earliest cases, but this time with a heightened level of trust, and care, honed by past experiences and missteps.

“Then it’s a good thing it was me that took the call,” he said. “Another detective might have tried to rein you in and the murders might then have never been solved!”

“Flattery again, Inspector? You’ll make my head swell!”

“The praise is well deserved. The case wouldn’t have been solve without you and that film might never have been made either. You did a remarkable job with both and you have every reason to be proud.”

“Thank you, Jack. But you give me too much credit. I didn’t solve that case alone. And I didn’t make that movie alone either, though I did enjoy it. I may invest in Raymond’s films in the future.”

“Then we might actually lose you to the pull of show business after all?”

“Probably not. I think my directing days are over. I’ve certainly no intention of giving up my detective business.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Now that is something I never thought I’d hear you say!” She laughed, delightedly.

“I am glad, Phryne, though I’m not sure the criminal element shares my enthusiasm,” he said.

“Even better.”

Her hand was warm on his arm and the heat from her body at his side was a marked contrast to the cool night air. The further they walked from the theater, the darker the night grew as fewer street lamps lit their way, but the moon was full, illuminating her fair complexion in a way that made her appear to sparkle.

Despite having nodded off for a moment, Jack had thoroughly enjoyed the evening. He even thought he may have been too stubborn in his dislike of moving pictures in the past. Truth be told, it had been years since he’d been to one and there had been some remarkable advances.

Equally, if not more, entertaining than the film, had been observing Phryne’s reactions to it and listening to the little asides she whispered into his ear throughout. He’d had to be careful in his replies, leaning in a little closer than was decent, because even at a whisper his voice seemed to carry.

More than once it resulted in a sound scolding from a woman seated in front of them. An occurrence that left him feeling chastised but that Phryne found hilarious—irritating the woman further. His own embarrassment was eased by her delighted laugh and the way she squeezed his hand in camaraderie, as though they were partners in the crime.

As they walked she regaled him with tales of the making of the film, including her late night lessons in how to run a camera. Her recounting of the acting debut of her two red-ragger cabbie friends was especially entertaining.

“Poor Bert. Couldn’t utter a word!” She said, laughing heartily at the memory.

“I thought the line was Yate’s,” he said. He remember distinctly that it was Cec on the screen when he’d helped Miss Fisher out with a voice-over recording for that one line.

“I’d given the line to Bert but he fumbled until Cec came to his rescue. Neither of their efforts was useable. At least Cec’s lips moved appropriately enough to dub in your voice.”

“Couldn’t you have just had him record that line again? Like I did?” He’d never understood why she’d called him for that when she’d had the man that was actually on screen available to her.

“Your voice has more gravitas, Jack.”

“Does it?”

“Oh, yes. You have a marvelous voice. Now that the pictures are moving to ‘talkies’ you really should consider a change in career,” she teased.

“I’m happy where I am, thanks.”

When they arrived at her house she invited him in for a nightcap. He was sorely tempted to accept. Ending his evenings in her parlour, a drink in hand and good conversation on offer, was something he’d come to cherish but perhaps it was not the best of ideas this night.

He was happy that they’d seemed able to return to some normalcy but he knew his feelings for her had not changed and thought it best to maintain some distance while he sorted them out. Being alone with her after so a lovely an evening didn’t seem a safe way to go about it.

“Thank you but I have an early morning,” he said.

“Of course. Another time,” Phryne said generously. He tried not to imagine that she looked a bit disappointed.

“I suppose it’s just as well, I have to be off early myself,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I have a possible new case that will take me out of town,” she said.

“Will you be gone long?” He asked.

It was the first thought that had leapt to his mind. Not questions about the case or her client, or even where she was headed, but only how long it might be before he saw her again. It was horribly transparent.

“I’ll know more when I meet with my client but I hope not more than a day or two. Will you miss me, Inspector?” She asked, coyly, her hand gingerly settling on his chest. It was her most blatantly flirtatious behavior since the estrangement.

He couldn’t help the way he swayed a little closer, his lips twitching up. He made a small incline of his head, smirking at her. He’d missed this.

“I believe I will, Miss Fisher. You do keep me on my toes.”

Her eyes sparkled up at him and she smiled widely, letting her hand drag over him a little before she dropped it to her side. He wondered if she’d been able to feel his heart thudding in his chest. He was fairly certain the way he was suddenly hauling air into his lungs was perfectly obvious.

“I’ve also been known to keep you fed,” she said. “Hold a night open for dinner later in the week? When I return?”

“I look forward to it.”

He decided to walk a bit before catching the tram back to his neighborhood. Partly because the weather was so pleasant and partly because he needed some time to think.

They were moving rather easily back into old routines and his defensive measure of passing on their usual nightcap had done little to stop the dismantling of the wall he’d tried to build between them. Any ideas he’d had about setting boundaries and maintaining a strictly professional working relationship began to look unattainable.

Of course, if that’s what he’d truly wanted he’d not have accepted her invitation to the pictures tonight.

He was no safer now than he’d been a few weeks ago. He could still lose her and it would be unbearable. For quite a long time, he feared. But he’d known loss before. There was no escaping it in this life and nothing to really be gained by the trying. Was he to sever all meaningful connections on the chance that one day they’d cause him pain? That was no way to live.

Besides, he wouldn’t love her any less if he continued trying to maintain some distance. He’d only be shoving it down, trying to deny it, and as much as he hated to give credence to that batty, faux-clairvoyant; Mrs. Bol-what-sit had been right, true love would not be denied. Whether requited or not.

The question then became; did he really require an equal return on his love in order to give it? After all, to call his love for her unrequited was not entirely fair. She cared for him and shared a great deal of herself with him. Wasn’t what she was able to give enough? Her trust? Her loyalty? Her friendship? For, truly, what was the meaning of the word if not all of that?

This partnership of theirs did not follow an ordinary path—nothing with Phryne Fisher was ordinary—but the uniqueness of the path was part of the appeal. And that appeal was more appealing than just about anything else he’d ever encountered.

He paused, looking around him. He’d long ago walked past the last tram stop and would have to make the rest of the journey on foot. He picked up his pace and half an hour later heard telephone ringing as he reached his front path.

He hurried to the door fumbling with his keys. Hoping it wasn’t the station, he rushed inside and snatched up the receiver.

“Jack Robinson here,” he said.

“Finally!”

“Miss Fisher?”

“I’ve been calling and calling.”

“I just left you!”

“That was over an hour ago!”

“It was a nice night. I walked. Is something wrong?”

“No. I just expected you to be home long ago.”

“So, you’re calling to make sure I made it home alright? I’m a grown man, Miss Fisher.”

“Of course that’s not why I’m calling! I remembered a funny story I wanted to tell you. About the movie.”

“And it couldn’t wait?” He thought her a little ridiculous but couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

“I’m leaving in the morning and I’ll have forgotten again by the time I get back.”

“Then it could hardly be important,” he teased.

“Well, I’m very sorry to have disturbed you, Jack!” She said, sounding piqued. “I’ll say goodnight!”

“No, Phryne, wait. I want to hear your story. Just give me a minute to hang up my coat.”

Phryne sat back in her chair, put her feet up and took a sip of her drink. She could hear Jack rummaging around on the other end of the phone. The rustle as he removed his coat. The clinking sound of a bottle tapping against the side of a glass. She tried to picture him moving about his home. She’d never been inside and had often wondered about it.

Jack pulled the telephone to the limit of its cord where it would just reach the table beside his reading chair. He fumbled to quickly open his bottle of whisky and poured himself a small drink. Settling back into the worn leather chair, he kicked off his shoes, put his feet up on the ottoman and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’m all yours.”

* * *

 

Catherine Everett was awake. Bouts of insomnia occurred frequently these days. She’d learned that laying in bed and stewing about it never helped. Better to get up and walk around a bit and maybe do some light reading. She rose and went to the kitchen for a drink of water. Throwing open the window above the sink she looked out at the moon shining over the back garden and let the cool night air wash over her.

A light coming from Jack’s window caught her eye. She’d noticed that it was often on late at night and he’d explained that he sometimes fell asleep while reading in his chair.

She was so sorry that his budding romance appeared to have withered on the vine. He needed someone to look after him. To see that he was properly fed and getting enough sleep. A little more joy in his life wouldn’t hurt either, though he seemed a cheerful enough man despite being such a solitary one.

 _Speaking of things people need, Catherine—you need to learn to mind your own business_ , she thought to herself. She really was turning into a right old busy-body!

She emptied her glass and reached to shut the window before returning to her room and attempting sleep. That’s when she heard it. Laughter. Coming from Jack’s window.

He had a lovely laugh. She didn’t hear nearly often enough.

It couldn’t have been a book that made him laugh like that because now she could hear the faint rumbling of his voice as he spoke to someone. She smiled.

Perhaps he wasn’t as solitary a creature as she’d thought.


	13. A Rising Tide

“Do you know the gentleman’s hat size, Miss?”

“Yes,” she said.

She was confident in her memory, having made note of the proper size when she’d examined the ruined one. She’d placed her finger through the bullet hole in the crown and shuddered, then quickly turned it over to take in its other features.

It was of fine wool and well made. Jack was not a wealthy man but he took pride in his appearance and wasn’t one to throw good money after bad. He knew the value in spending on quality materials. On things made to last. He was going to miss the hat. She felt oddly mournful about it herself, having grown ridiculously fond of it.

As she’d held it in her hands that day, she’d made herself think only of the practical. It was her fault he’d suffered the loss and she’d decided then and there that it was only right she be the one to supply a replacement.

She’d gone to the shop as soon as possible after her return from Maiden Creek. She knew just what she wanted and relayed that information to the gentleman behind the counter, then waited while he selected some examples for her to peruse.

Just as she hadn’t at the time of the incident, she didn’t now allow herself to dwell on deeper questions or think about how differently it might all have ended. She thought only of the present, of his immediate need, and her debt.

The clerk set three choices before her and she knew instantly which she would choose. Even so, she picked up each in turn. Comparing their color, their weight and the smoothness of the felted wool. Her first instinct proved correct and she left the store with a hat nearly identical, if perhaps slightly superior, to the lost one.

She took the box home and set it in the parlour before heading into the kitchen to check on another part of the preparations.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Butler,” she said. “Whatever it is you’re cooking, it smells divine!”

“Thank you, Miss,” the man said, turning from the stove to acknowledge her arrival. “Were you successful in your shopping venture?”

“I was,” she affirmed.

“I retrieved that bottle of wine you requested,” he said, anticipating her question and gesturing to the bottle on the table, “would you like me to serve it with dinner?”

“Definitely not! It can hardly be called wine at this point and I’m afraid it would only ruin your carefully prepared meal. I’ll let you choose an appropriate accompaniment. The inspector and I will sample this bottle beforehand.”

“Very well, Miss,” he said, displaying a decided lack of curiosity that was much valued in one’s household staff.

Satisfied that all was in order, she went upstairs to change for her expected dinner companion.

 

* * *

 

Jack looked good in front of her mantel. He looked at home. Which pleased her immensely. It felt like they had finally moved fully past any awkwardness.

Their outing to the picture show had gone a long way toward normalizing relations and when she’d found herself over her head in Maiden Creek she hadn’t hesitated to reach out to him for help. It was something she wouldn’t have considered a few months ago but now it seemed perfectly natural and he’d come to her aid, as she’d known he would, despite the somewhat cryptic nature of her request.

Yes. They had most definitely got their partnership back on track and were once again working in harmony. She thought it cause for celebration.

She uncorked her special bottle of wine and handed him a glass, taking a cautious sniff of the one in her own hand.

“May I ask what’s so special about this wine?” He asked.

“I crushed it myself,” she replied.

“What with?” To his credit, he took a generous sip without awaiting her answer.

“With my feet...mainly,” she said, with a mischievous grin.

She watched his face closely, trying not to laugh. He was ever the good sport, as she’d suspected he would be, swallowing and proclaiming the wine to be without ‘a bad drop’.

Deciding the time was right, she set her drink aside without tasting it and reached for the box by her chair.

“I need to thank you for coming to my rescue,” she said.

“Is that what I did?”

“Eventually.” She pulled the hat from the box and approached him, “and you paid dearly in the millinery sense, so...”

He held still for her as she set the new hat upon his head, angling it jauntily. His expression was soft and his eyes— _oh! his eyes!_ —the way they looked at her! She hadn't realized until this moment how much she'd missed that look, how she'd been waiting for it to return. 

She tugged at his lapels, watching his lips curve, ever so slightly, in that way they did—somehow more of a smile than even the toothiest grin—and her heart dropped with a _swoosh_ into her stomach. He might as well have taken her in his arms, lifted her from the ground and swung her in a circle for the level of elation she felt at the sight of that slight quirk of his mouth and that light in his eyes.

She stepped back and took up her glass of wine, raising it to her lips and taking a sip. He mimicked her actions, still holding eye contact.

The liquid hit her tongue and she paused, screwing up her face and resisting the urge to spit it back into the glass. He chuckled.

“Oh, that is awful,” she said, setting the glass down, “how can you drink that? There’s being polite, Jack, and then there’s martyrdom!”

“It’s hardly _that_ bad.”

“It is that bad! I won’t let you take another drop!”

“Perhaps it will improve with age,” he said, rolling the liquid in the glass and surveying it with a careful eye.

“Perhaps, but right now it will dull your tastebuds and Mr. Butler won’t forgive me for ruining your enjoyment of his roast.”

She took the glass from his hand and, as if on cue, Mr. Butler announced he was ready for them in the dining room.

It wasn’t until hours later, after she’d seen him out the door and was up in her room preparing for bed that she finally succumbed to the pull of her subconscious.

She allowed herself to recall that moment in the field, in Maiden Creek, when the shot rang out.

Had Valma Brightwell been less proficient with a firearm, or had her intent been other than to warn them off, it would have been more than a hat that had been lost that day. And her grief would’ve been profound.

Phryne climbed beneath her covers and pulled them tight around her to banish the sudden chill that had taken hold. She was shaking, her teeth chattering despite the warmth of the room and the heavy down-filled cover. She curled herself into a tight ball, squeezed her eyes shut and worked to banish all thought from her head. It was more than she could take. It was unbearable.

She stubbornly closed her mind to it, willing herself to sleep.

 

> _They were in front of her fireplace._
> 
> _He was holding her softly but surely in his arms, his eyes dark and intense. Her hands were on his chest, palms flat against the warm wool of his waistcoat. She slid them up, over his shoulders and linked them behind his neck._
> 
> _“You don’t know how long of I’ve dreamt of this,” he said._
> 
> _“All I do is dream of this, Jack,” she said, “and dream, and dream.”_
> 
> _“No more,” he said, finally bringing his lips to hers._
> 
> _It was what she’d been waiting for. What she’d longed for and at last, at long last, she had it._  

 

Phryne sighed softly in her sleep, her body unfurling from its fetal pose as she rolled to one side and hugged a pillow to her chest. 

 

> _They lay in her bed. She was on her back. Her hands clutched at his shoulders._
> 
> _He rose above her, his eyes wide, searching her face. She smiled and his lids closed, a returning smile on his face as she ran her hands down his back, drawing her nails lightly over the taut, hot skin. He arched back and settled himself between her thighs. Dipping his head, his lips sought hers, drawing her into him as he joined with her._
> 
> _He filled her completely and they became a single being. Their lungs shared one breath, their hearts beat in sync, and thier bodies moved in a perfect, ancient rhythm that they instinctively, instantly, found._
> 
> _Together._
> 
> _He stilled inside her, pressing deep and she closed her eyes to concentrate on this feeling. It was like nothing else ever. So perfectly right, so gloriously whole._
> 
> _“Look at me.”_
> 
> _It was not an order to be obeyed but a gentle plea that couldn’t be ignored. She opened her eyes to look into his._
> 
> _“Do you see it, Phryne?” he asked. “Do you understand what this is?”_
> 
> _She cupped his face with her hands, locking her eyes onto his._
> 
> _“Yes,” she said._
> 
> _“And, do you want me?”_
> 
> _“More than anything.”_

Phryne woke, gasping for breath, her body clenching. She rolled to her stomach, pressing her pelvis into the mattress to try to find relief from the throbbing, hollow ache between her thighs.

It was so real. She could still feel him. His eyes, as they'd been this evening, in front of her mantel, swam before her and she heard his voice as though he were right here with her.

_“Do you understand what this is?”_

“Yes,” she said aloud to her dark and empty room.

The dam broke and he rushed through her like a flood. She went under and willingly drowned.


	14. But first,  a Musical Interlude

_“Let’s be outrageous, Let’s misbehave!”_

He plunked out one final chord as their song died away. His tongue poked out to wet his lips and he smiled shyly.

“Archibald Jones, of the dulcet tones,” she sighed, teasingly, “the loyal listeners of 3JH will be bereft.”

“Yes, I’m sure those hourly news reports were the center of their days,” he said sarcastically.

“Well I, for one, will miss him!”

“What's there to miss?”

“His ease, his charm, the flirtatious workplace romance,” she said, wistfully.

“You seem to have a completely different recollection of events but, once again, I’m happy to have been able provide you with amusement, Miss Fisher.”

“Endlessly,” she said, “but as much as I'll miss dear Archie, I am glad to have you back, Inspector.”

She bumped playfully up against him and he moved his arm behind her back. He didn’t touch her, choosing instead to settle his hand on the piano bench, but he didn’t pull away when she leaned back against him and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt the faintest, briefest brush of his cheek along the top of her head.

“Tired?” He asked.

“Not especially,” she answered, sitting up again. “Will you play something else for me?”

“For you?” he said, thoughtfully, “of course.” He bent over the keys and sang out in a voice that was soft and playful.

 _“You do something to me._  
_Something that simply mystifies me._  
_Tell me, why should it be_  
_You have the power to hypnotize me?”_

He looked over at her with an inviting smile and she couldn't help but join in.

 _“Let me live ‘neath your spell._  
_Do do that voodoo that you do so well._  
_For you do something to me_  
_That nobody else can do._  
_That nobody else can do.”_

She beamed at him. “You are a constant surprise, Jack Robinson.”

“A pleasant one, I hope.”

“Mostly.”

He made a small nod of his head at the likely truth of the statement.

“You play beautifully,” she said.

“I think 'beautifully' is generous, but thank you.”

“I’d have expected your repertoire to be along more classical lines.”

“I know my share of Mozart, Miss Fisher, but I learned early on that it didn’t suit my purposes.”

“Oh?”

“You see, the classics may be an impressive lure,” he said, his fingers dancing over the keys and producing the familiar opening strains of _Mozart’s Sonata No. 11_ , “but before you can finish the piece your audience has wandered off to the next room to find friends, or been pulled away by someone more engaging. But—” here he paused, flashing her a charming grin and segueing into the old hit, _I’m Always Chasing Rainbows_ , “play a tune to sing along with and before you know it, the prettiest girl at the party is seated by your side.”

“Deviously clever,” she said, shifting a little closer to him on the bench. “What happens next?”

“If you’re lucky, there might be dancing,” he said. “And later, if you’re luckier still, you might find yourself in a dark, secluded corner with the pretty girl wrapped up in your arms.”

He finished the song with a flourish, accompanied by her delighted laugh.

“I imagine you had great success with this method.”

“Some. In my day,” he said, modestly.

“Don’t be so sure that day has passed, Inspector.”

He turned to face her, expecting to see an amused expression, or the coy, femme fatale look she wore so well, but what he saw was something entirely different. Something soft and almost sweet. Something raw and honest that clutched at his gut.

He drew his gaze up to her eyes and watched the brilliant blue pools become eclipsed by rapidly expanding pupils. Her lips parted slowly into a little pout. Red as ripe berries and infinitely more tempting. It would take no more than a small adjustment to close the gap between their bodies and taste this forbidden fruit.

He felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead. She closed her eyes in a long, slow blink as she inhaled deeply, swaying even closer.

His hands itched to reach out for her. He wanted to run his fingers through her silken hair. To smear that perfectly applied lip paint.

As often as he’d thought about this, he had never before felt such violent insistence from every one of his senses. In this moment it felt perverse _not_ to touch her.

His eyes roamed over her beaded gown the way his hands longed to. He recalled the music it made when she moved. Singing out at each switch of her hip, her every step.

He imagined the crescendo it would make as it slipped from her body culminating in a satisfying climax when it crashed to the floor.

All this ran through his head in a matter of seconds and yet he did not move. Could not breach the distance. He swallowed down the beating heart that had jumped into his throat and, with every ounce of self-control he could muster, turned his eyes away.

Phryne exhaled sharply and shivered. The crush of disappointment was an odd juxtaposition with the flood of pleasure hormones still zipping through her brain.

She ached to feel him pull her against his chest, to hear him growl with animal need. She had seen it there, just now, hovering below the surface, but he didn’t act. He never acted and it was enough to drive a girl insane.

She should have seized the chance. It wouldn’t have taken much. A light touch to his thigh or a provocative and inviting tilt of her head. But it had to be he that ventured into the breach. He was the one that had drawn the line and he would have to make the choice to step over it.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t encourage.

“We really should go dancing, Jack,” she said, affecting a lightness in tone she was surprised she was capable of at the moment.

“Dancing?” He croaked.

“I’m sure you know the meaning of the word, Inspector. You used it earlier. Even gave indication you enjoyed the activity.”

“I don’t think I’ve danced in well over a year.”

“Then it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps.”

“I’m sure things at The Green Mill are just getting started...”

“You mean tonight?”

“Why not?”

“It’s getting late.”

“You sound like my Aunt Prudence, Jack.”

He looked appropriately horrified by the comparison.

“What about your other guests?”

“They’ve all gone,” she said, with a wave of her hand.

“I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he said, with alarm.

“Nonsense! Didn’t I just say I’m not ready for the evening to end? The night is young. Won't you join me?”

Jack considered the path under his feet. There was no longer any question he would trod it. He’d traveled a fair distance already and ignored several opportunities to turn around. The only question remaining was the pace of his step.

He stood and held out his hand, helping her up from the bench.

“Maybe not The Green Mill. If you don’t mind,” he said, “and not dancing.”

“Then what do you suggest?” She asked.

“Not far from my home there’s a little club where a very enjoyable trio entertains into the wee hours.”

“Are we talking about jazz, Jack? You are a dark horse.” She beamed with delight.

“I don’t always sleep well and one night, as I walked, I heard the music and followed it. I’ve been back several times since.”

“Is that wise for a man in your position?”

“No less wise than your suggestion of The Green Mill!” He countered. “It’s dark and I keep to a table by the back door. No one knows me there.”

“Sounds intriguing,” she said, starting to feel as though she hardly knew him herself.

 

* * *

 

Jack parked the car along the curb in front of a row of shops that were closed for the night. Phryne recognized the street as being just a few blocks from his home. He came around to open her door, helping her from her seat.

Linking her arm through his, she let him lead her around the corner and then down an alley to the back of the shops. There was a row of nondescript doors lining the brick wall of the building. Above one of the doors a green light burned dimly.

He knocked softly and someone peaked through slat in the door. There was apparently no code word required, and they must have been deemed acceptable, because a moment later the door opened to them revealing a gloomy staircase.

It was dark, as he’d said, and a little mysterious. They reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into a sparsely lit but cozy room. Candles burned in the center of a dozen or so tables scattered about the floor. The only other light was from an electric chandelier, with tulip shades, hanging above a bar at one end of the room.

Music filled the air. It wasn’t the jumping dance tunes you’d hear at The Green Mill. It was intimate and smooth. Even romantic. It was a sound you had to chase with your ear, never really keeping up with the ingenuity of the musicians creating it.

He placed his hand gently on the small of her back to steer her through the maze of tables. As they went Phryne noticed a series of booths built into alcoves all along one side of the room. Each alcove had heavy, red velvet curtains hanging at its entrance and a mirror with elaborate, gilded frame on the wall above the table.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the mirrors swing open and a server appear in a hole in the wall to wait on the customers seated in that booth.

She smiled at the ingenuity and discretion of it. Many of the alcoves had the curtains closed and she could well imagine what might be occurring behind them. This secret passageway allowed service to be provided without revealing the occupants to the rest of the room.

She felt the warmth of his hand through the beaded layers she wore and thought about him steering her into one of those cozy leather booths and pulling the curtains shut. To her mild disappointment he moved them past the enticing spaces and headed toward the brick wall that indicated the back of the building. There was a door to one side. He chose the table closest to it for the quick exit they’d need should he find himself in a predicament detrimental to his reputation as a police officer.

The table was somewhat tucked into a corner but still provided a direct view of the musical trio on the small stage.

He pulled out a chair for her and then settled in at her side. The space was tight and they had to sit quite close, their knees brushing up against each other.

“Jack. We seem to have found ourselves in a dark and secluded corner,” she said, harkening back to the tale of his youthful romantic maneuverings.

“So we have,” he replied with feigned astonishment.

He kept his gaze focused forward at the musicians but she could see the tell-tale crinkles forming around his eyes and the slight curve of his lips. His arm went behind her to rest on the back of her chair. She snuggled in a little closer.

“Well played, Inspector.”

“Sometimes a man gets lucky, Miss Fisher.”


	15. Aftermath Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story in two chapters, (15 & 16, both posted today) that follows the fallout from the events of S 2 E 12 Unnatural Habits.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said.

He reached for her and after a feeble attempt at protest she relented and folded herself into him, clinging desperately. He stroked her hair, uttered soothing sounds. The combination of anguish, anger and confusion that had been keeping her upright lost its power and she sagged in his arms. He tightened his hold to keep her from falling.

At least physically.

There was no stopping the emotional descent and nothing to be done about that but hold on for the ride. And he would hold on until she was on safe ground. Because she needed him and it was the right thing to do.

But he resented it.

As ashamed as he was to admit it, he resented it. And in this moment, he resented her.

She wasn’t alone in her anger and confusion tonight. She wasn’t alone in her anguish. And on top of it all, he was having trouble absolving her completely.

He didn’t think for a minute that she was in any way involved, or responsible. But the tiniest bit complicit? That was a harder question and he knew her too well to quickly dismiss the thought.

If Rosie knew nothing it was because she hadn’t wanted to know. She was a smart, insightful woman. It was that, along with her beauty, that had first attracted him. She had a sharp mind and she didn’t suffer fools. But she could also have a blind spot a mile wide. Especially when it came to her father.

She worshiped the man. Could never see when he might be wrong. That idolization had no doubt helped cloud her vision where her fiancé was concerned. If George Sanderson held Sidney Fletcher in high esteem, that was all the endorsement Rosie needed. She wouldn’t look much further or allow questions about the man’s character to creep in.

Of course, Jack hadn’t minded quite so much when the same blind devotion had benefited him. When, as a young constable, he’d earned the respect of his commanding officer and it had paved the way for a relationship with his superior’s beautiful daughter.

Had George not approved of him, and thought Jack on the path to higher office, the attachment to, and subsequent marriage of, his favorite daughter to a lowly Senior Constable would have been unacceptable.

Jack was fairly sure George had played a role in the divorce decision as well. Once it became apparent that Jack would never rise within the department to the heights previously expected, he might still be a valuable officer, but he was no longer a suitable spouse for the daughter of the Deputy Commissioner. George would have had no desire to urge a reconciliation.

But none of this should matter right now. Right now, his focus should be on consoling his former wife in her deepest grief, but try as he might to banish them, these lingering resentments clawed at him.

And new resentments were forming.

“What happens now?” she cried in dismay. “What’s to become of him? Of me? Oh, Jack, what will I do!?”

With her fiancé implicated in murder and human trafficking, and her father guilty of—at the very least—having covered up those crimes, Jack didn’t know what would become of her but he did know that the road ahead would not be an easy one.

“I’m sorry,” he said, again. He didn’t know what else to say. She fell, wailing, on his shoulder and he held her closer.

He’d never seen her this broken, and that was saying a lot considering how destructive the disintegration of their marriage had been. He had to find a way to let go of his own anger and the resentment. It was selfish and ignoble. He’d let her down often enough in the past, he owed her this now.

He let her cry, holding her steady until she’d gotten past the initial shock. When she pulled back a bit, still sniffling but no longer hysterical, he handed her his handkerchief and looked away as she tidied her face.

“I’ll take you home,” he said.

She looked up at him, panic stricken.

“Jack, I—I can’t go back there.”

“You were living with him,” he said, hollowly.

He felt an idiot. He knew this. In the back of his mind he knew this, but he’d forgotten, or hadn’t cared enough to remember. That was a revelation of its own.

“We were engaged to be married,” she said, desperately, by way of explanation.

“Of course. You don’t need to explain.” This was no time for judgement and he honestly felt none. “Where can I take you?”

She looked up at him with gratitude for his willingness to move past any recriminations but before long her despair returned.

“I don’t know,” she said. "I can't go to father's either."

“What about your sister’s?” he suggested.

“She never liked Sidney.”

“I can’t imagine she’ll make a point of that now. She’s not unkind. And this will be hard on her too. You need each other.”

“I don’t know if I can face her right now. I’m so ashamed. Could I stay with you? Just for tonight?”

He balked. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rosie.”

Her eyes flashed with anger and her expression turned sour. “Of course you don’t.”

Her tone was bitter and biting but he wouldn’t bite back. If she was itching for a fight it was only as an outlet for her grief and he wasn’t inclined to indulge her.

It had always infuriated her in the past—his refusal to engage—and he’d never liked her tendency to fight dirty. She was expert at finding the most sensitive scab to pick. He braced himself.

“Why was _she_ here tonight? Miss Fisher,” she barked, as if he were personally in charge of the other woman’s whereabouts. “Why is she always here? And tonight of all nights, to witness my humiliation!”

She was trying to goad him into leaping to Phryne’s defense, to start a row that would allow her to cast blame for her pain anywhere but where it belonged.

He had no intention of allowing it and he wouldn’t even bother to defend Phryne to her. Phryne needed no defense, but she’d touched a nerve and despite his better intentions, his own anger flared.

“Your humiliation? Do you think you’re the only one suffering tonight? The only one in pain? The only one needing comfort?”

“Oh, I see. Is she suffering too?” She sneered. “What has she lost, Jack? What is her pain compared to mine?”

“This isn’t a competition, Rosie and I was thinking of those girls, of what they might need—and myself.”

She blew out a breath as if punched in the gut and deflated, too exhausted to pursue the argument. He’d seen this before too, this quick flash of anger and then retreat—at the end of their marriage, when she’d lost all hope. When they’d both lost hope and couldn’t even muster the care or energy to argue anymore.

“I deserved that, I suppose,” she said.

“I don’t mean to hurt you. God knows you’ve been through enough tonight, but, I cared for your father too. I respected him and I’m so angry. Look at what he was willing to do for power! The life he was condemning those girls to! They’re children, Rosie!”

“He didn’t know! It was all Sidney!”

“Fletcher is the devil,” he said, trying to control his growing rage, “but your father looked the other way. He’d have let them escape.”

Jack shuddered. There’d have been hell to pay if George had succeeded in stopping him from boarding that ship, if Phryne been unable to free herself and warn him about the girls, or if she, or anyone else onboard, had come to physical harm. As it was, George would probably find a way to deny all knowledge of the larger crimes and get off easy. He’d clearly been trying to lay that groundwork with his daughter.

“No, Jack, father was deceived! Just like I was,” Rosie pleaded. “You heard him! He said he didn’t know what Sidney was up to!”

She was running her hands along his arms trying to calm him and he realized he was shaking.

“I don’t believe that,” he said, “and neither do you, Rosie. How could he not have known? You said as much yourself just moments ago.”

“But it can’t be true! He can’t have known! If he did, Jack—if he could do this—then my entire life is a lie! It can’t be true!”

He pulled her to him once more. She was gulping in great breaths, on the verge of hysteria.

“It’s going to be all right, love. You’ll get through this,” he said, “you’re one of the strongest people I know. You’ll get through this.”

“Oh, God! I don’t deserve you!” She cried, pushing off of him and turning away.

She leaned forward, almost bent double, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white. 

“You’ll be all right,” he said, again.

“He let us both down,” she said, without turning around.

“Yes.”

“Take me home with you, Jack. Please, I’ve nowhere else to go,” she said, desperately, turning back to him and placing her hands on his chest. She slid her hands up and looped them behind his neck. “We need each other, Jack. We could be of comfort to each other.”

“No, sweetheart, we can’t,” he said, gently. He bent to rest his forehead against hers but left his own hands at his sides so as not to encourage this desperate impulse of hers. He only had so much to give and she didn't really mean it. She was only seeking a distraction.

She bit back a strangled cry and tried to pull away. He grabbed for her hands, holding them tightly in his.

“You know that I’ll always love you, Rosie, and I’ll always be here for you, but I’m not what you need. Not like that.”

“Don’t you mean to say that I’m not what you need, Jack? Not what you want?” She said, veering toward anger again.

He didn't contradict her.

Despite this self-serving whipsaw between attempted seduction and stinging attack, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of affection for her. He knew her so well. Knew all the little tricks she used to protect herself. He smiled.

“Do you find this funny?” She spat.

“Not funny. No. But, oddly endearing, in its way. We’ve been here before.”

She looked thoroughly perplexed.

“You’ll do anything to avoid facing this but all you’ll manage to do is delay it. The reckoning will come,” he said, unsure if he was speaking to her or to himself.

Both, probably.

They were in a similar predicament at the moment. She needed to come to terms with the truth of her fiancé’s and her father’s crimes, along with her own part in it. He needed to do the same with his desires and the limits on his willingness to hold them at bay.

“Father knew,” she said, defeated.

“Maybe not all, but enough.”

“And I should have known.”

“No,” he said. “I won’t let you take that on. None of this is your fault.”

“Sidney was my fiancé. I should’ve seen what he was up to.” She looked down at her hand in disgust and disbelief, tugging the ring from her finger.

“He’d have done all he could to keep it from you. And if there were clues, and you chose not to see them, chose to give him the benefit of the doubt, no one could blame you. You loved him.”

“I didn’t even know him!” She grabbed Jack’s hand and forced the ring into his palm. “Take it! It makes me sick. See what you can get for it. Use it to do something for those poor girls!”

She blinked, letting the tears roll down. He brushed one away tenderly with his thumb. Finally he saw the trace of a rather wretched smile and a growing resignation in her eyes. She wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Take me to my sister, Jack,” she sniffed. “We’re going to need each other.”

 

* * *

 

Jack drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, looking up at her home and the light burning in the entryway.

 _Fear and anger are powerful things_ , he considered.

Fear alone might have paralyzed him but the anger had steeled his spine. He’d have killed for her tonight. Nearly had, without a moment of hesitation, and it hadn’t come as a surprise. And it hadn’t sent him into a tailspin.

He’d almost lost her again but instead of making him want to run away it had made him determined to hold her closer. Fear. Anger. Love. Three of the most powerful of emotions and she commanded all of them in him.

She would never be a safe choice but she was his choice and he wasn’t going to deny it anymore and he wasn’t going to try to make her play by his rules. Not tonight. Not if she would have him.

 _God_ , he hoped she would have him. Let him bury himself in her and drown any pain. Let him hold her close and feel how alive she was and steal some of her strength for himself.

It was selfish and ignoble. The second time tonight he’d been such, but he was already out of the car and standing on the step outside her door.

He rapped softly on the window pane.


	16. Aftermath Part II

Phryne looked down on the little creature. She’d never seen one as ‘freshly hatched’ as this one.

“You couldn’t have taken Mary to hospital?” She asked, slightly horrified to think what state her lovely chaise might now be in.

“There was no time!” Aunt Prudence said.

Phryne sighed. It wasn’t exactly convenient that her houseguest had gone into labor tonight but there was nothing to be done about it now. The child was here.

“Are they always this red?” She didn’t even try to keep the distaste from her tone but Dot and Aunt Prudence seemed oblivious.

“Always,” Aunt P answered, “but the doctor says this one is strong as an ox. Aren’t you my little man?”

She cooed. Aunt Prudence actually cooed and Dot giggled like an infatuated school girl.

“Wonderful,” Phryne said, assuming that was an appropriate response.

It was wonderful, she supposed, that the baby was healthy but she didn’t see what all the fuss was about. Nine months of discomfort and hours of painful labor for this? This little worm of a thing? It hardly seemed a just reward but you wouldn’t think that looking at Aunt P and Dot. They were positively smitten.

Good thing someone was, because Phryne had no intention of tending to the demands of an infant. She wouldn’t know where to begin and had no interest in learning. She’d provide a roof over the heads of mother and child until a suitable alternative could be found.

“Now all we need to do is find a placement for Mary.” She said, wheels turning to the task of getting her parlour back.

“She already has a placement. With me. Once she's completely recovered, of course,” Aunt Prudence said.

“Doing what?”

“She can assist Cook,” Aunt Prudence tsked as if it were obvious. “I've no doubt that her soup will come up to scratch once she's had a bit of practice.”

“And her flummery?” Phryne teased, feeling a wave of affection for her formidable Aunt. As frightening and fierce as the woman could be, she really was a generous soul.

“Quite good, actually,” Aunt Prudence said, looking over at the sleeping form of the new mother with a maternal smile.

The little worm squirmed and began to fuss a tiny bit. Phryne felt herself recoil at the sound.

“It's alright, Mrs Stanley. I can take over,” Dot said.

“Good. Thank you, Dot,” Phryne said, relieved that no one had considered her for the task, and turned on her heels to make a quick exit. Behind her she heard her aunt saying goodnight to the newborn in a silly, sing-song voice Phryne was quite sure she’d never heard the woman use before.

She rolled her eyes and stopped to collect the whisky bottle and a tumbler from the bar cart before heading up to her room. She may have had to relinquish her parlour for the evening but that didn’t mean she couldn’t still have her nightcap, and after tonight, she had a feeling one would not be enough.

She shut the bedroom door behind her, kicked off her shoes and poured herself a finger of whisky—then, a drop or two more for good measure—and went to run a bath.

Moving back and forth from bedroom to bath, shedding her clothes haphazardly as she went, she tried to clear the awful events of the case from her mind. Finally, she sank into the bath and took a long drink from her glass. The whisky settled hotly in her belly and the warm water began to wash away the horrors.

She laid her head back against the edge of the tub. She wondered where he was right now.

It hadn’t surprised her when he went to Rosie’s side. The only surprise had been that little pinprick to her heart at the sight of him pulling his former wife into his loving arms. The familiarity of embrace, the way their bodies had rocked together in a gentle sway, was a little too painful. But, it was to be expected, she supposed.  As was Jack’s kindness and caring.

But, what of his own distress tonight? Didn’t he deserve a little kindness and caring himself? Phryne had been in the room when Jack had faced a smug and unrepentant George Sanderson. She’d seen the hurt and disillusionment in Jack’s eyes. She’d witnessed his anger and pain at the fate of the girls they hadn’t been able to save. A pain and anger she shared. It wasn’t fair that he had to set all that aside in order to care for someone else. If anyone deserved a hot bath and stiff drink tonight, it was Jack.

She felt a stirring of resentment for Rosie Sanderson. For Rosie, her horrible father and that evil Sidney Fletcher.

How could a woman be so intimately involved with a man, even engaged to be married, and know so little of his true nature?

And, how on earth could a woman walk away from a man like Jack Robinson and into the arms of the devil himself?

 _Rosie is most likely having similar thoughts just now_ , Phryne thought a little bitterly.

She stood abruptly, sloshing water over onto the floor. This maudlin wallowing would not do. She dried herself off and pulled on her favorite silk robe. She considered going right to bed but her mind was too restless.

She headed back downstairs to return the whisky to its place and the empty glass to the kitchen, then wandered a bit aimlessly through the house. The babe and its mother were sleeping peacefully in the parlour and she found her aunt settled in a chair in the next room with a book.

“Aunt P, Mr. Butler has the guest room made up for you,” Phryne said.

“Yes, thank you. I prefer to stay where I can hear the baby. In case he, or Mary, wake in the night.”

“All right. If you insist, but at least let me bring you a pillow and blanket.”

“Your efficient staff has already seen to that.” Aunt Prudence pointed to the bundle on the window seat.

“Oh. Good.” Phryne could think of nothing else to say. “Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight dear.”

Phryne made one more sweep through the first floor. All was quiet. She really should be heading up to bed herself but she had the oddest sensation that she was waiting for something. Or, perhaps someone would be more accurate.

It was ridiculous, really, with all that had happened, but the night felt incomplete. Without their usual nightcap and the chance to discuss the case, to— sort of—decompress together, it didn’t feel finished.

She was being silly and selfish. Jack had other things to attend to and wandering pathetically around a darkened house in her dressing gown, like the heroine from a gothic novel, wasn’t likely to improve her mood.

She had just mounted the first couple of steps when she heard the quiet rap on the window pane.

 

* * *

 

Jack was out of the house and back in his car far more quickly than he’d hoped to be but not the least disappointed. In fact, he felt happier than he had in a very long time. Happier than he should, considering the misery so many others were facing tonight.

They may have been interrupted—her terrifying fireplug of an aunt disrupting a very promising beginning—but his message had got sent and, if the smile on her face was anything to go by, Phryne had received and welcomed that message.

There was no need to hurry. There would be other nights. They had time now. All the time in the world.

 

* * *

 

 Phryne closed the door and fell back against it. Dizzy. Disoriented. Happy.

_Giddy._

Yes. That was the word to best described this feeling and she wanted to wallow in it. Sink under and luxuriate in it for as long as possible.

“Phryne.”

With the report of a gunshot Aunt Prudence broke her reverie. Phryne felt the flickering flame of annoyance licking but tamped in down.

The interruption at a critical juncture had been bad enough, but Phryne would not allow her interfering and clearly disapproving aunt to spoil this moment too. She drifted up off the door and started for the stairs.

“Phryne!” Aunt Prudence insisted. Phryne stopped, her hand resting on the bannister.

“Yes, Aunt P?” She inquired pleasantly. “Is everything all right with the baby?”

That blasted baby! Any other night and her household would have been sound asleep and Jack’s visit would have gone unnoticed by anyone but herself. They’d have made it beyond the bottom step and could, right now, be upstairs ravishing each other!

Phryne took a deep breath to calm herself. This was ruining the mood and it was hardly the child’s fault.

They had time, she and Jack. Plenty of time, now that they understood one another. If only she could get past her aunt and up to her room without losing this wonderful feeling.

“The little man is fine,” Aunt Prudence sniffed, “It’s you that has me concerned.”

“It was a harrowing night, Aunt P, but I’m right as rain. Thank you for your concern.”

“I’m not talking about that, though I am glad you are safe,” Aunt Prudence generously allowed. “My concern is for your lack of propriety! It isn’t prudent to be accepting gentleman callers at this time of night! What will the neighbors think? It’s—indelicate.”

“It wasn’t a gentleman caller, Aunt P, it was Jack.”

“Inspector Robinson is an unmarried man. An unmarried man who turned up on the doorstep of an unmarried woman at a most inappropriate hour! What might have happened had I not been here?”

“What might have happened, indeed,” Phryne said, with a cat-like smile.

“Phryne!” Aunt Prudence clutched at her pearls. “This is exactly what I’m talking about!”

“Relax, Aunt P,  Jack is the most respectable and honourable man I know.”

“Well, then you are doing your best to corrupt him! Don’t think I can’t see the way you look at him as though you wish to devour him whole. A man can only be expected to take so much and you are not as discreet as you think you are, my dear.”

Phryne’s smiled grew. Her comment about devouring Jack whole had not had the effect Aunt Prudence had clearly intended.

“I feel as though you are not taking this seriously!” The older woman complained.

“Oh, but I am! Very seriously! In fact, I fear my thoughts on the matter might keep me up for hours!”

The implication was not lost on Aunt Prudence, who could only huff in scandalized indignation.

“Goodnight, Aunt P. Thank you so much for your help tonight.”

Phryne kissed her stout little aunt on the forehead and floated up the stairs.


	17. Of Low Burning Flames and Fireplugs

People were talking. Laughing. Enjoying the little Christmas in July celebration she’d arranged to chase away the ghosts of the previous few days. Even Aunt Prudence seemed to be in better spirits.

The highlight of the evening so far had been seeing Aunt P and Bert, arguably the two grumpiest members of the party, surrender to one of the silliest of all Christmas traditions.

Phryne managed to side-step a similar attempt at ‘coercion by mistletoe,’ fearing Jane’s little ploy might cause Jack embarrassment.

Her attempt to demure very nearly backfired when he’d turned to her and uttered the most unlikely words to ever set off a torrent of desire in the history of desire.

His arm was resting on the piano, hidden from view behind her back, and as he angled his body toward hers he lightly stroked his thumb along the base of her spine.

_“Hemiparasitic. Of the genus Viscum.”_

It might was well have been gibberish for all the sense her brain made of it. The deep, seductive timber of his voice caused a sudden rush of blood from her head making it impossible to think straight. She leaned into him, oblivious to anything or anyone else in the room. He was equally enthralled—having eyes only for her.

“I think it’s time for another song!” Aunt Prudence called out.

Cec cleared his throat loudly and led them in a rousing rendition of _Deck the Halls_.

It was a moment or two before she trusted her voice enough to join in. Jack remained at her side, so close she could feel the warmth of his body. He laid his hand briefly on her back and she leaned into his touch. This tension was going to kill her.

For the rest of the evening they stole every moment they could. Taking any excuse to touch. She must have straightened his perfectly situated tie a dozen times and she’d lost count of how often his hands brushed against her, grazing her back as he passed by, or his fingers floating over hers as he handed her a refreshed drink.

All of this was kindling to a smoldering fire that leapt ablaze when he bent to tell her how lovely she looked tonight, his breath ghosting over her ear. He might as well have said he wanted to take her right there and then for the ruinous effect it had on her knickers.

She sometimes wondered if all this heated anticipation might make the actual event pale in comparison but she was far too eager to find out to really worry about it. Besides, if the first attempt was slightly overheated and fumbling, they could always try again. And again. And again.

Jack was caught in conversation with Cec at the moment and she shot him a look so full of intent she could see his ears redden from across the room.

She bit her lip to keep from smiling wickedly. There really was something to be said for a long, low burning flame. This was the best kind of torture.

He lingered as the rest of the guests departed and by the time they were finally alone, standing in front of her mantel, her body was humming with electricity and the warmth from the fire was wholly unnecessary.

“I hope you weren’t made to feel uncomfortable earlier, Jack,” she said, topping off his glass.

“Your aunt does seem determined to make me feel like a disobedient schoolboy at times,” he said.

“Aunt P has mastered the disapproving stare but I was referring to Jane’s little ploy.”

“The mistletoe? That was harmless,” he said, “though it did raise a question.” He took a sip from his glass, peering at her over the rim.

“One I might help answer?”

“One _only_ you can answer.”

“Then ask away, Jack.”

“Alright.” He paused, taking another sip before saying, in the voice of one only mildly curious, “If not sprigs of hemiparasitic greenery, what will compel your kisses, Miss Fisher?”

“Hmm,” she said, stepping closer, a sly smile spreading across her face, “that’s quite a long list.”

“I’m in no hurry.”

“But I am, Jack, so I’ll stick to the basics.”

She wrapped her fingers around his tie, pulling it from his waistcoat and using it to tug him closer.

“You find my tie compelling?” He teased.

“It’s more what lies behind it.”

She got to work loosening the knot and then undid the top button of his shirt.

“Mmmm, yes. This,” she said, dipping her index finger into the hollow at the base of his throat.

“Just who is being compelled here?” he said, huskily. 

“I’ve forgotten.” She met his gaze and let her hand slide to his chest, resting her open palm over his beating heart.

“Doesn’t matter.”

He wrapped his hand around her head, pulling her to him.

“Phryne, where can I—oh! I hadn’t realized any guests remained.”

The highly indignant sniff and familiar disdainful voice made Jack drop his hand abruptly.

“Is she living here now?” He hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes crossing with frustration.

“Can I help you with something, Aunt P?” Phryne asked, stifling a laugh.

“I was looking for the book I started when I was last here.”

“I’m sure it’s been returned it to the bookshelf. Did you look there?” Her voice was pitched an octave too high in a desperate and failed attempt to hide her annoyance.

“Perhaps you can assist me?” It wasn’t a question.

“Of course,” Phryne sighed. She laid her hand on Jack’s arm. “Don’t go anywhere Inspector.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Aunt P cleared her throat impatiently. Phryne smiled apologetically and hurried away.

It seemed unfair to Jack that any number of men could find their way to Phryne Fisher’s bed and he couldn’t even manage an uninterrupted kiss. At this point it felt like even the gods were having a good laugh at his expense.

He did up the undone button at his collar and pulled his tie tight again, tucking it back into his waistcoat. He threw the remainder of the whisky down his throat and tried not to sulk.

More than once he’d thought of Phryne’s aunt as a ‘fireplug’ of a woman. Her ability to douse a flame now made that description even more apt.

“Where were we?” Within a minute Phryne was back and stalking toward him like a cat on the prowl.

“I should probably be taking my leave,” Jack said.

“I’m quite sure that’s _not_ where we were, Inspector,” she chided. “What’s happened to your tie?”

She reached to begin undoing it again. He stopped her hands, giving her an admonishing look. If he let this continue he wouldn’t want it to stop and he’d put money on Prudence Stanley finding another excuse to poke her head in.

Phryne gave way a little, still fiddling with his tie but was no longer threatening to undress him.

“She’s only staying a day or two,” she said. “After recent events I didn’t want her to go home and be on her own.”

“Understandable,” Jack said, “and very kind of you. How is she holding up?” He was genuinely concerned. The weekend at the chalet had been a house of horrors.

“She’ll be fine. She’s a tough old bird.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have her,” she said, “despite her amazingly horrible timing!”

“Seems to me her timing is impeccable—for her purposes,” he grumbled.

“Don’t take it personally. She actually likes you. Perhaps too much, which is why she worries.”

“About me?”

“About any number of things.”

“Well, be sure to tell her that I can take care of myself.”

“I imagine you can, but wouldn’t you rather have help, Jack?” The clipped way she said his name sent a shiver down his spine. She raised a cheeky eyebrow, trailing her finger down the buttons of his waistcoat. He chuckled at her impertinence. Perhaps her aunt had reason to be concerned.

“Please don’t,” he groaned as her fingers reached the last button and threatened to drop further. “A man can only take so much.”

“Oh, alright,” she pouted. “I’ll behave. You know what our problem is, Jack?”

“You have too many meddlesome relatives lurking around corners?” He guessed.

“Aunt Prudence is only one woman.”

“Really? That can’t possibly be right.”

“Omnipresent, perhaps, but singular, I assure you,” she said, her voice sparkling with humor.

His gaze roamed over her face, settling on her mischievous eyes. When he touched her, gently tucking back a strand of her hair that had gone astray, her expression softened, becoming sweet and sincere.

How was it possible anyone could make him this happy just by looking at him? His affection for her was a living thing. Blooming in his chest until it took up so much space he could barely breathe.

“We have time—don’t we, Phryne?”

“Yes, Jack. This doesn’t have an expiration date.”

“Good.”

She took his hand in hers, caressing it gently.

“You should come for supper.”

“Happy to.”

“I’ll be sure to pick an evening when Aunt Prudence is otherwise occupied. And, I’ll send everyone else away to the pictures or something. It will be just the two of us—and Mr. Butler, of course. Someone has to cook.”

“Of course,” he nodded in agreement.

“I’ll request something hearty. A man needs his strength to keep up with me, Jack,” she said, the mischief returning to her eyes.

“Truer words were never spoken. When might this magical event take place?”

“As soon as I can possibly arrange it.”

“I can cope with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only intended to take this through the end of S2. I don't have the patience to go through S3 but I can't leave it here either. I plan to do a time jump to the end of S3 and finish this series with at least one more chapter. Thank you to all who have faithfully followed along!


	18. Best Laid Plans...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a whirlwind six weeks (thank you foxspirit1929 for your wonderful series timelines) Phryne and Jack have:  
> — had two aborted dinner dates  
> — endured several ‘meeting the in-laws’ moments  
> —navigated old flames/new opportunities and the jealousy they inspire  
> —done some matchmaking for Dot and Hugh and  
> —solved nearly a dozen murders
> 
> Whew! Talk about ballast! No wonder these two have such a hard time getting their ~~groove on~~ relationship off the ground.
> 
> And, no wonder I didn’t want to tackle even one more chapter about their struggles. Instead, I’m jumping ahead to just after the final episode of S3. This chapter is mostly set up for the final chapter.
> 
> S3 Spoiler: Phryne has flown off to England to return her father to her mother, leaving Jack behind.

* * *

 

The little plane proved reliable and with each hour Phryne’s confidence grew. They set down once, in the mining town of Broken Hill, to refuel. Phryne had chosen the location for two reasons. One, because the mine owner kept an airfield outside of town and two, because she knew the outback environment would hold no appeal for her father, thus limiting his objections to continuing immediately on their way.

They ended the day’s travels in Alice Springs. Landing as the sun faded, nearly twelve hours after they'd lifted off from Melbourne. Phryne thought it a very good start. Her father disagreed, complaining loudly of cramps in this legs, pains in his back and a throbbing head.

She’d expected as much and had purposefully made this first day of flying one of the longest of the trip. After this, each day would seem easier and hopefully limit the whinging.

They found a hotel for the night. She got rooms across the hall from each other so that she might hear his comings and goings. As an extra precaution she tipped the man at the front desk generously on the understanding he would inform her of any attempts by her father to leave the premises.

She also left explicit instructions that the Baron was not allowed to place any charges to the room. It was another point of contention between them but she had a firm hold on the purse-strings and that was how it would remain.

She’d barely closed herself into her room, having not even had time to remove her coat, when he came pounding on her door. She sighed, and opened it a crack.

“What is it, Father?”

“You can’t be serious about these accommodations! My room is abysmal. There isn’t even a bath!”

“It’s down the hall.”

“You’re joking!”

“It’s one night, Father. And a short one at that. We leave at first light.”

He tried to push his way into her room but she held the door firm, blocking his view with her body. He craned his neck to see around her.

“You appear to have your own bath,” he said, accusingly, “and your room is considerably larger.” 

“I’m paying the bill.”

She flicked her fingers at him, shooing him back as she made to close the door. If he thought she was punishing him, just a little, he wasn't wrong, but it was more about setting a tone for thier journey.

“Be reasonable, child! You can’t expect me to travel this way!” He cried.

“I didn’t. I expected you to travel on an ocean liner in the first class cabin I’d procured for that very purpose but apparently you weren't happy with that either.” It was all she could do to hold her temper. If he’d stayed on that ship they wouldn’t be here now. “I will be downstairs for a late supper in an hour. Join me, or don’t, but as you have no funds of your own, it will be your only opportunity to eat tonight, so I suggest you do.”

She closed the door in his face, throwing the bolt for good measure. She was tired and his ingratitude had stepped on her last nerve. If this was how she felt at the end of the first day, how on earth was she going to manage the entire trip?

She’d been looking forward to a nice soak in the bath to relax her muscles after the long day in the cramped cabin of her airplane and now her mood was spoiled. Tugging off her linen duster, she shook it roughly to dispel any dirt and flung it at the sofa.

Something fell from the pocket.

She recognized the scrawling hand on the creamy white envelope and her fingers flew to the little, blue swallow brooch pinned to her scarf.

It was the last thing she’d done before leaving the bedroom of her beloved St. Kilda home. She couldn’t bear to leave without it. It was her touchstone, a reminder of everything that was important, especially the lovely man that had returned it to her.

Was it only this morning she’d left him? It seemed longer.

Her sudden plan to fly her father home to England had pulled the rug out from under them. She’d feared he’d be angry, and he did express concern at the speed with which the plan came together—this was Jack, after all—but he wasn’t critical and he didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he’d pored over maps with her, plotting the best routes and finding alternatives should she have to deviate.

They never spoke of what would become of them while she was away. For her, there was no question. She might be leaving Melbourne, but she wasn’t leaving him. He was so far under her skin there was no shedding him. Not even if she wanted to—and for the record, she didn’t.

Never was she more sure of it than when he drove out to the airfield to see her off. The words had spilled from her without a thought as to whether it was reasonable to ask.

_“Come after me.”_

Judging by his incredulous but happy expression, the invitation had been well received.

She bent to pick up the envelope, turning it over in her hands, wondering when he’d managed to slip it into her pocket. It must have been during that kiss.

That kiss that was everything and not enough. A reward earned and down payment on things to come. It had grounded her and, at the same time, given her the freedom of flight.

He was a remarkable man and she found herself missing him already. Perhaps he’d thought she might, and that was why he’d secreted the note into her pocket rather than just handing it to her. Perhaps he’d known that this day would end with frustration and had wanted to provide a small surprise of comfort.

Or, perhaps he was saying goodbye. It stood to reason he’d written the note before she’d made her overture. He wouldn’t have known what she would ask. Perhaps he was writing to tell her he couldn’t wait or didn’t expect her to return.

There was only one way to find out.

She sat at the dressing table and slit open the envelope, her heart already pounding in anticipation of his words.

 

 

> _Dearest Phryne,_
> 
> _I had expected to be starting this letter by lamenting over time lost and opportunities wasted but I can’t bring myself to do so. I can’t bring myself to regret one moment of our association, even the difficult and frustrating moments, because each and every one of them has brought me to where I am today—happily and hopelessly in love with a most incredible woman and dear friend._
> 
> _I think I’ve always known that one day I would watch you go away from me. Stupidly I feared it would be another man or pure adventure that called to you. I didn’t expect duty._
> 
> _Especially not, after having met the man, duty to your father. I could try to dissuade you, say you owe him nothing, but I won’t, because I know you and love you too well to consider it._
> 
> _I also know that it is more than duty that drives you. It is your generous heart, with its unimaginable capacity to love and forgive that sends you on this latest adventure._
> 
> _You like to protest it, but you are a romantic at heart. Your loyalty and devotion seems to know no bounds and I am constantly in awe. You make me proud, Phryne, and a little smug, to be able to count myself among those you hold dear._
> 
> _I hope I don’t overstep my bounds in saying that but you have shown me again and again that you care for me and I am forever grateful and humbled._
> 
> _If I have one regret, it is that I never took the opportunity to say it in words, but I hope I have shown you, and made you feel, the depths of my affection for you._
> 
> _I once told you I would never ask you to change and I meant it. I’ll never ask it and never want it. I want you to always remain the unconquerable spirit that you are, even if that serves to take you away from me._
> 
> _This is not to say that I won’t miss you terribly. I will. Already do._
> 
> _I worry that I’ve forgotten how to solve crimes on my own. Whatever will I do without my partner? I can say with certainty that I will never find your equal._
> 
> _If all of this sounds as though I think this goodbye to be final, be assured that I don’t. There is no final goodbye between us. How ever far you go, or long you are away, I will be here, awaiting your return and eager to share in the tales of your adventures. How I envy you the ability to answer their call! I hope it is everything you wish it to be._
> 
> _If you think of me, or if you ever need me, please do not hesitate to reach out and I will move heaven and earth to be of service. And, finally, If it’s not too much to ask (though I know it is) be safe, darling Phryne._
> 
> _When we parted tonight, I went home so full of all the things I never said that I couldn’t rest. I sat down to pour out my heart to you, expecting to feel nothing but loss and anguish. Oddly, as I see the first signs of morning light, and know that it takes you from me, I am not bereft._
> 
> _I am content. Content in the knowledge that I have had the privilege to know you more intimately than many, and to have loved you better than most. (Though not as thoroughly as I might have liked.)_
> 
> _You leave me a happier man than you found me._
> 
> _Go where you will and when you tire of travels, come home to me._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Jack_

 

It was so like him. Somehow anchoring and freeing at the same time. She checked the clock. It was nearly half past eight. The bath could wait.

She rushed from her room and down to the front desk, requesting a trunk call to Melbourne and toying with the little brooch as she impatiently waited for the call to go through.

“Jack Robinson.” His voice crackled over the line.

“We seem to be at cross purposes, Inspector.”

There was such a long pause that for a moment she thought she’d lost the call. Finally he spoke.

“Not really, Miss Fisher. Our requests might differ but I believe the desired result is the same.”

She broke into a wide grin.

“You know what, Jack? You’re absolutely right,” she conceded.

“I think something might be wrong with this line. Could you repeat that?”

“You heard me and we’ve got more important things to discuss,” she said. “So. Which will it be? Will you come after me or shall I come home to you?”

 

* * *

 

Of course he’d go to her if he could. He’d decided it as soon as she’d asked and told her as much that first night when she called from Alice Springs. He’d gotten so far as to look into booking passage when a lengthy investigation had delayed his planning. And so, instead, he wrote.

Almost every night he wrote to her.

Just a line or two. Moments from his days that he wanted to share. He’d gather those moments up over the course of a week before sending the letter on its way.

There were other letters as well. Letters that broke from him like a river escaping its banks and overwhelming the land around. Letters where he told her of how she came to him in his dreams, as regular as spring and infinitely more welcome. Letters where he poured himself over her in the only way he could and then waited patiently to drown in her reply. And drown he did. Happily.

She wrote.

More frequently than he’d dared hope she might. The letters made the distance between them shrink. Even the fervent ones that left him aching with longing and unable to sleep.

He’d always thought her a wonderful story teller and she was equally as entertaining with a pen and paper as all other means of communication. She brought to life her daily adventures in colorful detail as well as her trials and tribulations.

She wrote that she could hear him in her head during the more trying times and that it helped. She said she could feel him beside her, steadying her when she needed it. So real, she swore, that she could almost feel the pulse of his blood beneath her fingertips.

Which, she said, led to more imaginings of the pulse of his blood and her fingertips doing what they could to send it racing.

Yes. She was good with pen and paper and the drop in his hot water bill was testament to it.

Her stay with her parents was brief, two weeks proving the end of her rope, but as she travelled the letters continued. She spent a week in the countryside and then flew to France, all the time connecting with old and new acquaintances, none of which she tried to hide in her correspondence with him.

If any of these acquaintances fell into the category of an ‘old friend’ she didn’t say, and regardless, her letters made it clear that her ardor for him had not flagged. She didn’t push, or express too much disappointment at his delay in joining her, but she made it very clear she was impatiently awaiting their reunion.

As was he.

Finally, after two and a half months of complications and postponed court dates he was able to telegraph that his responsibilities with the case were complete, and that he’d set an appointment with the Commissioner to discuss an extended leave of absence. Within hours a telegraph came in return.

   

> **No need STOP Coming to you STOP Coming home STOP**

 

A flurry of telegrams, and one very expensive phone call, followed to discuss her plans. She would board an ocean liner in Marseille, reach Australia in less than three weeks time, and Melbourne four days later.

The final telegram from her read:

 

> **Will disembark at Fremantle as discussed STOP Esplanade Hotel STOP**

 

Two days before Phryne Fisher’s ship was to arrive in an Australian port city over 2000 miles from Melbourne, Jack Robinson boarded a train.


	19. ...don't always go Astray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack travels to meet Phryne's ship and they enjoys a long awaited reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this final chapter as I prepare to leave town for an extended vacation and didn't want to leave it until I returned. Please forgive any typos.

Jack had learned long ago to sleep anywhere but a night sitting up in his seat on the train left him less than refreshed. He was glad he had one night on his own in the hotel to get some rest. He wouldn’t want to meet her looking as ragged as he currently felt.

He found his way to the hotel. The young women behind the desk had an eager and helpful expression. She reminded him a little of Dot Collins.

“Good afternoon. I believe you have a room for me? John Robinson.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Robinson. Four nights with an included breakfast.”

“That’s correct,” Jack said, assuming it was, Phryne had made the arrangements.

“And, it says here Mrs. Robinson will be joining you tomorrow?”

“Mmm—Mrs. Robinson...” he stammered, momentarily confused.

“Yes,” the clerk said, puzzled by Jack’s reaction, “has there been a misunderstanding?”

“Ah, no,” Jack said, thinking on his feet, “your information is correct. Her ship arrives tomorrow. If I appeared surprised it’s because we were only just married when a family emergency called her away. I’m unused to hearing her referred to by that name.”

“I see.”

She looked at him dubiously. Jack wished Phryne had prepared him for this. He was quite sure she’d have done a much better job at play acting than he was managing.

“To be honest,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I’m a little nervous. I could hardly believe she agreed to marry me in the first place and now we’ve had to be apart for so long.” He flashed her a charming and self-deprecating smile, not even having to fake his blush. “I just want the next few days to be special for her. It’s the honeymoon we didn’t get to have.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” the girl said, her eyes going soft, “I’m sure she’s anxious to see you too and you will definitely find your rooms acceptable. The founder’s suite is our very best accommodation. And I'd be happy to point you toward the attractions in our city.”

She turned the registration book around for Jack to sign, handed him his key and directed him to the elevator.

The clerk was not wrong. Jack found the rooms more than acceptable. He especially appreciated the ensuite bath and availed himself of the large tub to soak away the grime of travel. He left the room once to find himself an evening meal and then settled in for a comfortable night with a book and an early bed.

As he climbed between the incredibly soft sheets, on the extra large feather bed, he couldn’t help think about tomorrow night. When she would be here with him.

Her intentions were entirely clear. She’d reserved a suite for them as a married couple. A suite with just the one bed.

He supposed he might have objected. Told the clerk that there had been a mistake, and requested another room. He could have, but the thought never even crossed his mind. He ran his hand over what he now considered to be her side of the bed, his heart full to bursting, closed his eyes and let himself drift into a contented sleep.

In the morning he was careful with his bath, washing fastidiously and giving his chin a thorough scraping with the blade. He had to stop himself from thinking too much or his hand would begin to shake with nerves. By the time he went down to breakfast he was a bundle of anticipation and raw energy. He could hardly eat, picking at his eggs and nibbling a bit of toast. The only thing he managed to complete was a cup of tea.

He tried to read to kill some time but couldn’t concentrate and eventually decided to walk to the port. As the crow flies it was only about ten minutes away but since the main land was separated from the harbour peninsula by a body of water, on foot it would take nearly an hour. He’d still reach it well before her expected arrival but he couldn’t sit idly any longer and thought some fresh air and activity might calm him.

After what seemed an interminable amount of time, but in truth was only three and a half hours since he rose from bed, he watched the great ship make its way into port.

She was waiting on the rail and spotted him below only moments after he’d seen her. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t the sight of the elegant and always collected Miss Fisher waving madly like excited schoolgirl. He laughed out loud and waved back just as enthusiastically, earning himself an odd look from one rather grumpy looking woman to his right. The rest of the crowd seemed too intent on searching for a familiar face to be bothered.

Then, finally, she was on the land and walking purposely toward him. He pushed through the crowd to meet her and they came, toe to toe, eyes for no one but each other and wearing identical astonished grins.

“Hello, Jack,” she said.

“Miss Fisher.” He gave her a deferential tilt of his head. “I trust your passage was smooth.”

“It was, thank you.”

A ship’s steward appeared behind them lugging four large cases on a cart.

“Is that all?” Jack asked, sarcastically, not at all surprised to find she didn’t travel light.

“I’ve only brought the essentials. The rest will go on to Melbourne. Bert and Cec will collect it for me when the ship docks there,” she said without a trace of irony. “Have you a car?”

“Ah, no,” he said, suddenly realizing his mistake and feeling himself blush pink. “I walked from the hotel.”

“No matter.” She turned to the steward, “Reggie. Will you run ahead and find us transportation to the Esplanade Hotel?”

“Of course, Miss Fisher.”

Once Reggie had trundled away with the baggage, she turned back to Jack.

“Well, Inspector. Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

He look behind him, then to the left and right and then over her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Looking for your Aunt Prudence.”

She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her from the ground and holding her tight to him as he kissed her with everything that had been building inside him all morning—for months really. When he set her on her feet again, she looked very pleased.

“Now, that’s a homecoming, Jack!”

“I’m just getting started.”

“Even better.”

She linked her arm through his and they made their way up the pier to where the cabs were waiting to transport incoming passengers.

“How are the accommodations?” she asked.

“Very nice. I was quite taken aback when I arrived and was given just the one room and told I was expecting my wife,” he said, glancing sideways at her.

“Oh? There must have been some miscommunication. It’s probably because I made both the reservations. Were you able to sort it?”

“What?” It was as if an icy wind had just passed through him.

“Were you able to get a second room? I hope they weren’t full up.”

“I—you didn’t intend—oh, god, I’m a fool, I’m so sorry, I thought—I’m sure we can get it sorted—but I made such a point of—they’re large rooms. I can stay on the couch.”

She burst out laughing. He stopped abruptly and glared at her.

“You are an evil woman, Phryne Fisher.”

“Mrs. Robinson, if you please. At least for the next few days.” She gripped his arm tightly and leaned up to plant a kiss on his cheek.

He left her alone in the rooms so she could have a bit of a wash up and get settled. While she did, he went in search of some champagne for a little reunion celebration. He picked up some bread and cheese and a little fruit too, in case she was peckish. They’d missed the luncheon service at the hotel and dinner wouldn’t be served for several hours.

When he let himself into their rooms, the bedroom door was closed, so he set the champagne on ice he’d procured from the kitchens and arranged the food on a tray.

“There you are.”

He turned to see her in the doorway to the bedroom. She was freshly washed, her face clean of any makeup and she wore only the black silk dressing gown he remembered from that night in her entryway. The night of the Pandarus incident when he’d gone to her and they’d taken the first steps on this journey that had finally led them here. Together. Alone.

She untied the sash of her gown and let it fall to the floor, waiting just long enough for him to get a good look at her before turning and walking back into the bedroom.

Jack stood frozen to the spot, his heart beating wildly, his mind having a hard time processing all the wonder he’d just seen.

“Come on then, Jack!” she called. “Don’t keep me waiting!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Someone should find a way to bottle this,” she said, inhaling deeply.

She was sprawled across his chest, her head tucked up against his neck. In the last few days they’d left the room to eat, and gone on a few walks along the waterside, but for the most part they’d played the role of long separated newlyweds very convincingly.

He chuckled, burying his head in her hair. “I think they have. It’s called aftershave.”

“Not that,” she said, although there was still a hint of it on his skin. “This is so much better. This mix of sweat and sex and Jack. I’m going to miss waking up to this.”

“I’m going to miss waking up to this,” he said, sliding his hands down her back and cupping her ass. He rolled her onto her back, pressing himself into her and kissing her firmly.

She opened to him like a flower. Her tongue sliding warmly into his mouth and her body growing soft and pliant. Her hands roamed down his back and she pulled him tight to her. He felt himself stirring and hardening almost immediately.

“You make me feel like a randy boy, Phryne,” he growled. “How do you do that?”

“I don’t know. How is it that I can’t get enough of you, Jack? I just had you and yet...”

She bit her lip and lifted her hips up off the bed, grinding against him. His hair was completely messed and falling over his forehead, his eyes wide and wondering. He looked like that randy boy he’d mentioned and it was irresistible. She clawed at his backside trying to draw him closer.

His expression changed and he was her Jack again. A grown man, full of need and desire.

“Do you want me now?” He asked, dropping his head to take a nipple into his mouth and rocking against her to encourage a little moan from her lips.

“If you’d be so kind,” she gasped.

“My pleasure.”

“Oh!” she cried, as he settled between her thighs and pushed into her sensitive flesh. “Mine too, Jack. Mine too.”

* * *

 

 

The days had blurred together in a haze of love and bliss. He wasn’t ready for it to end.

He was making a thorough study of the burst of freckles across her shoulder, committing the pattern to memory. He felt he knew her body very well by now and this last little examination would help him conjure it in glorious detail on those nights he was in his own bed, alone.

“What time is the train again?” He asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Not for hours yet. Let’s not talk of it.”

She rolled onto her side, her fingers reaching to play with the smattering of hair on his chest.

“How will this work?” He asked. “When we’re home.”

“I said we have hours and then a long train ride. Must we worry about that now?”

“Phryne,” he chided, gently.

“I don’t know, Jack. It just will.”

“Yes, but—”

“But what? What do you want to know?”

“Well, I’ll want to spend the night with you.”

“I’ll want that too. Did you doubt that?”

“Not really, but how it will work? In my position I can’t be seen to be—cavorting—with an unmarried woman.”

“Cavorting?” She laughed. “What is this, the eighteen hundreds? No, even then they weren’t so proper! But, Jack, seriously, you’re not suggesting we marry?”

“No. No. I know you don’t want that.”

“Do you?”

“Phryne, I love you. If I thought it was what you wanted, I’d marry you today. Don’t you know that?”

“Oh,” she said, sounding a little stunned..

“I’m not asking,” he said, “or even expecting it down the road. I don’t need to be married. I’m just saying that if it were something you wanted, then I’d want it too. To make you happy.”

“I’m happy already.”

“So am I. Or, I will be if you say you want this to continue.”

“Of course I want this to continue! What did you think?”

“Well, all the subterfuge, the pretend marriage and coming all this way...”

“You thought I was hiding you? I just wanted some time alone together. Before we unveil this to the world.”

“Then you intend for people to know? We can be public about this?”

He looked so pleased she couldn’t help but smile at his idiocy.

“Well, I was planning on that, you foolish man, but what about the ‘cavorting,’ Jack,” she teased. “I wouldn’t want to compromise your reputation!”

“I just meant that I can’t be seen to be having a sordid looking, clandestine affair,” he said, peevishly, “but if we’re courting...”

“Courting!” She screamed with laughter. “We _have_ travelled to the past!”

“Oh, shut up,” he said, stopping her mouth.

 

* * *

 

The train ride home was not nearly as comfortable as their suite but they had a private car and they were together.

One might have thought they’d have run out of things to say after four solid days in each other’s company but to the contrary the conversation flowed easily. The silences were easy too, as they sat side by side and read their separate books or watched the scenery fly by out the window.

They rode overnight and when she grew tired, she stretched out on the bench and laid her head in his lap.

“I do love you,” she said, quietly, without opening her eyes.

“I know.”

He set aside his book and stroked his hand through her hair, lulling her to sleep.

He watched her for awhile, taking in her peaceful countenance. She slept well. Completely. As she did everything else in life.

She was so beautiful and he loved her with all of his heart and more. And she loved him. It should have seemed beyond belief but it didn’t. It felt right and natural. As if it had always been and always would be.

All the fumbles and failures, the missteps and mistakes, and in the end none of that mattered. With time and effort they had finally found the steps to this dance. It had come in its own time and the foundation on which it was built was sturdy and made to last, whatever might come next.

Jack stretched his legs to rest his feet on the bench opposite, being careful not to jostle Phryne and turned out the overhead light. As the train steamed toward home, he leaned his head back against the cushion, knowing he was already there.


End file.
